The Guiding Hand of Fate
by Texas Anglophile
Summary: A new twist on how Audrey and Richard meet. I don't own these two but have adored them for years.
1. Chapter 1

**Gentle Reader, I hope you enjoy this new twist on how Audrey and Richard meet. Feedback is greatly appreciated, as it fuels the fire to continue writing! I will try to update this story as often as possible.**

Staring down at the stenographer's pad on her lap, she mentally checked her figures. Though she never excelled in mathematics and despised accounting in all forms, she knew that the numbers on the page before her fell painfully short of the desired goal. A million pounds, while a huge sum of money to most Brits, was merely a drop in the bucket to the blue-blooded fforbes-Hamilton's. She'd contacted every living relative, no matter how distant, in the hopes of securing the funds necessary to hold on to her precious Grantleigh. But time had officially run out. The bank examiner had established a firm deadline for receipt of monies owed. And for the first time in her thirty nine years, Audrey fforbes-Hamilton was unable to deliver that which was expected in the name of her revered country estate. She had failed. Grantleigh Manor would be placed upon a dreaded auction block and sold, along with most of her family heirlooms.

Tossing the pad on the sofa, she sighed heavily and ran her fingers through her blond bobbed locks. She tucked her legs underneath her, adjusting her plaid wool skirt slightly as she stared into the fireplace. The flames in the grate were beginning to die down. It was late. The clock in the hall had chimed minutes before, signaling the arrival of a new day. Sleep was a commodity that rarely came to her of late and ushering Midnight politely into her drawing room was now common practice. Glancing down at her precious pooch asleep in his basket beside the hearth, she was thankful that the tiniest member of her family could rest comfortably amid the chaos that had swirled around her over the past month. Just a couple of weeks and they would find themselves among the ranks of the Britain's homeless. Audrey's eyes traveled around the perimeter of the room that had become her sanctuary. The art and furnishings surrounding her mimicked those found in the rest of the manor—refined, elegant pieces. All but the hideous lamp that Marton insisted they place atop the massive library table in front of the windows. It was tacky and distasteful, and for a split second Audrey smiled, as she considered the lamp to be nothing more than an extension of her recently deceased husband. After several minutes of silent inventory of her family's possessions, she stood and yawned, determined to fall into bed before the clock chimed again. Bertie raised his head and regarded his master for a moment before returning to peaceful doggy dreams. She closed the door to the drawing room noiselessly then slipped quietly upstairs into her suite.

Alone in her four poster bed, Audrey tried desperately to turn her brain off. But it wasn't to be. So many memories of her life at the manor. So many details and loose ends to tidy up before handing over the reins to the new owner. How would she ever be able to do it? How could she simply slip a key into the hand of a stranger and walk away? A hand that most likely won't understand the joys of farming, the satisfaction of duty and the sanctity of honor. Four hundred years of ffobes-Hamilton's, working to carry on a staunch tradition…now to be turned into a circus by some nouveau riche foreigner or would-be pop star. And what of her devoted staff? Grantleigh had been a source of wealth and well-being for the modest community for well over four centuries. Arnold Plunkett, her dear friend and the family's most trusted solicitor, promised that he'd secure lodgings and employment for each and every person displaced by the sale of the manor. And now, devastatingly, Audrey would have to add her name to that very list.

Her mind turned cartwheels as she listened to the odd creaks and rattles of the old estate. The sounds had increased and magnified over the last weeks, making sleep near impossible. She wanted to blame stress—that of surrendering to her worst fear in losing the manor. But if anything, Audrey was honest—sometimes brutally so. And she knew she couldn't lie to herself about this. Something was missing. Well, someone actually. Marton. Her husband of eighteen years…and not one of them very happy. A distant cousin, Marton fforbes-Hamilton had been the only male heir to inherit her beloved Grantleigh. Oh Marton! Why? Why did you do this to me? She'd loved him once, as a young girl. She'd fallen hard when at the age of fifteen, Marton lavished his charming attentions upon her, twirling her round and round the Great Hall on the night of the Summer Hunt Ball. A man of twenty-two, Marton relished nubile young maidens. A fetish which, unfortunately, he was never able to resign despite a marriage license and gold band. Yet sleeping beside him night after night had given her a strange sense of security. Not a feeling of love or caring as one might expect from a spouse. Quite the opposite. A security that the one thing she held most dear, her childhood home, would stay firmly in her grasp.

Another yawn came and Audrey finally felt her body begin to relax. As she drifted off, she replayed the conversation she shared with Marjory earlier that evening…

 _"Come on, Aud. You gave it your best. I hate to see you torture yourself." Marjory settled herself on the loveseat opposite her best friend as Brabinger, Audrey's butler, served her another brandy._

 _"I'm not giving up, Marjory. Not yet. The race is not over until midnight tonight." Audrey answered, perusing stacks of memos and documents scattered on the sofa around her._

 _"Do you honestly think you can secure another two hundred thousand pounds in the next five hours?" Marjory checked her watch._

 _"I'm not afraid of hard work." Audrey responded with a firm nod. Silence filled the drawing room for a few minutes before Marjory spoke again._

 _"Don't you get tired?" She asked, swirling her brandy cautiously in her snifter._

 _"Tired? Of what?"_

 _"Of being you."_

 _"Of being me? What on earth do you mean?" Audrey stopped shuffling papers for a moment, examining her friend with a hard look._

 _"I mean, don't you ever wish that you could be someone else?"_

 _"Heavens no. Why would you ask such a thing?"_

 _"Well, look at you. You're Audrey fforbes-Hamilton. You are on guard and on display every day of your life. You wake in the morning and spend every waking hour trying to preserve and better the family name. Must get awfully exhausting."_

 _"It's my life's work. It's all I know. It's all I want to know."_

 _"But certainly there are times you'd like to just run away from it all?"_

 _"Not really, no." Audrey turned her attentions back to her paperwork._

 _"Never?" Marjory pushed._

 _"Marjory, what exactly are you trying to say?" She asked, scribbling down figures with a hasty hand._

 _"I think you need a holiday, Aud. You haven't stopped from the moment you buried Marton. You've become obsessed with this little project of yours."_

 _Audrey raised her head and glared at Marjory. "Little project? Is that what you think this is? I am trying to save my life and livelihood and the one thing that means more to me than God and Country and you flippantly refer to it as a 'little project'?"_

 _"Oh Audrey, I didn't mean it that way." Marjory tried to regain a verbal foothold, but she knew it was too late. She crossed a line and knew Audrey would not be reasoned with._

 _"I've worked tirelessly day after day for a solid month and you think this is some sort of hobby?" The hurt in her voice was more than evident and Marjory was certain she could see the beginnings of tears forming in the corners of her friend's eyes._

 _"But I was—" Majory tried to interject._

 _"Just leaving. Brabinger, please show Ms. Frobisher to the door." Audrey stood, her tall frame rigid, and exited the room with hostile deliberation._

The clock downstairs chimed and Audrey knew she'd lost again. One a.m. and she was now further away from dreams than before. In thirty days time, she'd lost her husband, her home, and now, quite possibly, her best friend. Maybe Marjory was right. Maybe I do need to get away. She knew in her heart of hearts that Majory was only interested in her well-being, even if her words were less than succinct in delivering such sentiments. She'd fought tooth and nail to the bitter end, but it wasn't enough. Close, but not enough. It was time to wave her starched, monogrammed white flag in a show of surrender and defeat. A call to Arnold at first light would set the unmentionable course of events into action. Turning onto her side, she lay in that comfortable, familiar position that always seemed to induce sleep. She tucked her hands neatly beneath her pillow and sighed heavily. In a few hours the countdown will begin, she considered. And in a week's time, I'll no longer be the lady of the manor.

Brabinger consulted his pocket watch for the third time before glancing up the staircase. A puzzled looked upon his face, he shook his head with an air of confusion and climbed the stairs. It was not like her to be late for breakfast, especially when she'd given special instructions for the morning's menu. With a sigh, he turned and made his way down the long corridor, stopping at the door of her suite. Giving several light taps, he called her name, announced himself and asked if she would be down for breakfast. To his surprise, he received no response. He gave another series of polite raps and waited. Still no answer. Gently, he turned the knob and peered cautiously into her room. The bed was neatly made, all pillows fluffed and blankets folded. Two small cream colored envelopes sat side by side, propped against the base of the lamp on the bedside table. Upon closer inspection, Brabinger found a note bearing his name, with the other addressed to Mr. Plunkett. Quickly he slid an aged finger under the sticky seal and removed a small embossed notecard bearing her initials: AFH.

 _Dear Brabinger,_

 _I have been unexpectedly called away on urgent business. I do apologise for not speaking with you in person, but I'm afraid the hour of my departure created quite an inconvenience and I did not wish to wake you. Please see that my other correspondence is delivered to Arnold first thing. I will ring or send post as to the date of my return._

 _Fondly,_

 _A._

In all his years of service at Grantleigh, Brabinger had never known her to slip away in such a mysterious manner. Urgent business? Could she have possibly found a way to hold on to the manor? He sighed again, fanning himself with the envelope as he made his way back downstairs.

* * *

"It's your lucky day, Ms…?"

"fforbes-Hamilton. Audrey fforbes-Hamilton." She fumbled in her purse momentarily then offered the gentleman behind the desk a credit card.

"It's rare that we have cancellations at the height of the season. Especially with all the fresh powder we're enjoying."

"I'm sure your patrons are most pleased."

"Will you be needing any additional keys?"

"No. I'm traveling alone."

"Well, please let us know if we can assist you in any way. And again, welcome to The Grand." The reservations clerk slid a key across the counter in Audrey's direction. He motioned to the Bell Captain and gave a friendly nod.

"Thank you." She nodded back with a half-smile, tucking the credit card safely back in her pocketbook.

Leaving Grantleigh under the cover of darkness, she'd hardly given thought as to where she was going. She had but one force driving her as the sun started to peek on the horizon—get as far away from the estate as possible. Let Arnold deal with the painful particulars. She couldn't bear to watch. The frosty air that met her face as she walked silently from the manor to the Rolls whispered only one destination. And in the course of many hours of non-stop travel, she found herself in the shadow of the Bernese Alps.

The locale was hardly surprising…she and Marton wintered there together for years. The only difference now being that she no longer had to keep her husband's wandering eye in check. Of course, she had no way to pay for her sudden excursion. Audrey couldn't afford a holiday of any kind—especially not a trip to one of the most exclusive resorts in Gstaad. She was broke. It wouldn't be long until she'd be forced to adopt an unlikely country philosophy-getting by one's wits and looks. She certainly had both, though more so with regard to intelligence. Audrey was attractive, but not what most men would consider beautiful. Words like stunning or gorgeous were seldom attached to her. She was pleasant. Nice-looking. And in her mind, utterly undesirable to the opposite sex. In fact, she had no desire for anyone to show her an ounce of interest. She'd played the obligatory bedroom games with Marton, and was in no way eager to find a new bedfellow.

Within minutes she was standing at the threshold of her mountain hideaway. Being a last minute arrival, she'd had to settle for one of the smaller suites with a lesser view—but she was lucky to have anything at all. Her luggage was deposited on the bed and she offered the bellhop a modest tip. The days of flamboyant spending had sadly come to an end and she felt rosy shades of embarrassment on her cheeks. Her life was changing…and not for the better. Audrey fforbes-Hamilton, a woman of striking deportment and class, could scarcely afford to pay attention, let alone any sort of bill. She flopped down on the bed, briefly throwing her gaze at the small clock on the bedside table. The dinner hour was approaching, though she didn't have much of an appetite. Maybe just a small cheese tray and a good bottle of Chianti via room service. She didn't feel like getting all dressed up to dine alone. A day of train travel had made her weary. She sat in silence for a few moments, contemplating her next move. But the silence was soon replaced by a sound so foreign that it took her a minute to realize what was happening. Tears burned hot trails down her cheeks and she was powerless to stop them. From the moment she'd learned of Marton's excesses, the insurmountable debt he'd accrued, and the need to sell the manor, she'd never once allowed herself to cry. Not once. She wore her name and duty like a suit of armor, never revealing to anyone, let alone herself, how desperate she felt inside. And now, hundreds of miles away from Grantleigh she could finally comes to terms with her pain and be that which she was truly afraid to show to the world: a woman with a broken heart.

 **Hope you enjoyed Chapter One! Would love a review!**


	2. Chapter 2

A long hot shower and a good long cry were exactly what she needed. In just two hours time, Audrey was feeling better…much better, actually, than she had felt in a long time. Wrapped up tight in fluffy white hotel robe, she lay sprawled across the bed, perusing the room service menu while the television flashed images of Fred Astaire in Top Hat. The steam from the bathroom had done more than just clear her clutter mind, and now she wrestled with first class hunger. Her previous cheese tray and wine contemplation had been replaced with a craving for real food. And so with little regard for price or her waistline, she called down and made her request: a steak and lobster dinner, complete with dessert and a bottle of champagne. Smiling to herself, she settled in among a mountain of comfy down pillows and waited for what she would later refer to jokingly as her "last supper."

She watched the telly for several minutes but found her focus lacking. Though she tried to concentrate, she was unable to stop her mind from creeping back across the past twenty-four hours of her life. Hours on the phone spent in last minute familial negotiations, dinner with Marjory, ill spoken words between the best of friends and finally, fleeing the manor in cowardice. In the sixty seconds following her call for room service, Audrey found herself firmly imprisoned back inside Square One. Her clear head began to fill up with the same fog that left her fumbling about Grantleigh for a month's time. The images on the TV screen began to blur and distort and it wasn't until she felt the wetness on her chin that she realized she was crying again. This time, however, her tears weren't burning down her cheeks in loud, desperate lines. These tears were quiet and reflective and filled with silent solace. Rarely did Audrey show her emotions. It hadn't been allowed. She'd been taught from a young age to keep them suppressed, as four hundreds years of fforbes-Hamiltons had done before her. This was, she determined, just another family tradition to be a casualty of Marton's negligence.

A knock on the door brought her back, and she quickly wiped her eyes with the cuffs of the oversized robe. Padding softly across the suite in bare feet, she greeted the attendant and waited as her dinner was positioned in the small sitting area in front of the window. Another modest tip was offered, along with a reticent smile. Alone again, she flipped the television off and sank into her chair. The recent tears had thankfully not obstructed her appetite and she devoured most everything on her plate minus dessert. The champagne bottle remained unopened and she toasted herself with a glass of water from the bathroom tap instead. Finally, with a full stomach, the fog inside her head began to dissipate and she repositioned herself in the bed. Surrounded by a mass of pamphlets, she studied the multitude of activities and events taking place in and around the hotel over the course of the coming week. She knew, however, that her meter was running and she would have to return to Grantleigh in a couple of days. She hadn't packed any ski clothes, so the slopes were off the list. The boutiques around town thrived on the patronage of the very wealthy—a club in which she was no longer a member—so shopping was a definite _no_. Spa treatments, facials, massage—all out of the question. She would, after several minutes of consideration, have to spend her time engaged in people watching—a pastime she found extremely entertaining. And better yet, it was completely free of charge.

Reaching for the remote, she turned the television on once more and flipped through the channels. The movie she'd watched momentarily was over, replaced with yet another black and white classic. She examined the menu of premium movie channels, but found little to her liking. Another click and the television was silenced for the night. Sighing, her hand found its way through her hair, lying in damp strings around her face. As she brushed several wisps away, she spied her small travel bag in the corner and remembered her novel. Slipping silently from the bed, she retrieved it along with another blanket from the closet. _A cold winter's night_ , she confirmed, _must be met with a good book and a toasty bed._ In seconds she was back under layers of cozy comfort enjoying the engrossing prose of Jane Austen. Of course she'd read everything that her dear Jane had penned—many times over. In fact, Audrey was as well-read as she was well-bred. Literature had been her lover from her early teens, and when she was unable to secure the affections of her own husband, she turned to the worlds of Austen and Bronte and Wharton to fill a loveless void. She'd flirted shamelessly George Knightly, her gentle gentleman farmer from Emma. She'd marveled at the quiet integrity of Edmund Bertram, her thoughtful clergyman of Mansfield Park. She'd ached for the compassionate touch of Colonel Brandon, her loyal and steadfast marksman of Sense and Sensibility. And she'd longed to taste Darcy's kiss—to feel his strong, protective arms around her as he whisked her away to a hidden love nest deep inside Pemberley. These were the men that had penetrated her core. The men that knew her darkest secrets buried beneath centuries of fforbes-Hamiton pomp and circumstance. She didn't need flesh and blood to satisfy her longings. Flesh and blood, she learned, always fell short. And so tonight, she would fall once more under the spell of Frederick Wentworth, her charming and honorable naval captain, knowing it would take little Persuasion to entice her.

An hour passed, with nothing more than the occasional rustling of the sheets filling the air around her as she struggled to find a comfortable position. Captain Wentworth, an accomplished horseman and splendid dance partner, had been unable to seduce her thoughts into his paper world, and at eleven o'clock, Audrey found herself coiffed, dressed, and standing at the entrance of the small piano bar just off the lobby. She hadn't closed her eyes prior to midnight in weeks, and knew the change in locale would do little to change that fact. The soft robe and extra blankets had warmed her body on the outside, but she needed a shot of liquid comfort to calm her. A nightcap and perhaps some quiet music might bring the night to a peaceful close.

She quickly took inventory of the crowd. It wouldn't qualify as such, seeing only two couples in the entire bar, each sequestered at dark corner tables. A grey haired gentleman stood behind the empty bar, offering a smile in Audrey's direction as he dried the stems of several wine glasses with a small cup towel. She returned his smile and made her way across the red carpeted floor, positioning herself on a barstool.

"Evening, Ma'am." The bartender nodded.

"Good Evening." She answered with another smile.

"Something warm for you this evening?"

"Yes. I'll have a glass of Remy Martin please."

"Certainly." He nodded once more.

Audrey examined her reflection in the mirror behind the bar. Her nose was still slightly red; a reminder of the tears she'd shed earlier. Her eyes were somewhat puffy, which might have been emotion, lack of sleep or a combination of the two. Her cashmere turtleneck and wool skirt were neat and conservative. _Boring_ , she decided after a moment's inspection. She continued to size herself up as the bartender delivered a large snifter of cognac, placing it on a dark green cocktail napkin in front of her.

"Would you care to start a tab?" He asked.

"I don't think so. One drink maximum for me this evening, I'm afraid."

"Shall I charge this to your suite then, Ma'am?" He turned and fingered the keys of the cash register behind him.

"Yes, thank you." Audrey smiled and signed the bottom of the receipt.

She took a couple of sips of Remy then moved her gaze back up to the mirror. Silently she counted the collection of spirits arranged on dozens of glass shelves. Bucking convention, she started at the far right and worked her way backward, taking stock of a host of vodkas first. She counted twenty nine varieties in all before moving on to whisky. Drinking and counting, her cognac mixed with the reflected light bouncing off the glass and she began to relax. So much so that after a moment, she caught herself humming a familiar tune. The bottles on the shelves melted away and she could see the image of a man sitting at the piano, playing the very tune she heard in her subconscious. She'd heard the song earlier that day, but where? His arrangement of the tune was slower, jazzier, and much more sensual than the original. In fact, his version was definitely better. Closing her eyes, she swayed slightly on her barstool, letting the music calm her in much the same way as the cognac. Audrey loved all types of music, but reserved a special place for jazz and standards. Another sip of her drink and she could feel her chest growing heavy and heated. And for the first time in weeks, she disappeared for a full three minutes, forgetting her past, her pain, and her predicament as the soft, smoky notes covered her like a warm blanket. The song ended sooner than she'd have liked, bringing her eyes and thoughts back in focus. She watched through the mirror as the elderly bartender delivered a brandy to the man behind the piano. His dark brown eyes were bright and engaging, and he nodded with humble thanks, taking a small sip of the drink before signing his receipt. In a moment, his hands returned to the keys and soothing sounds filled the mostly deserted bar once more.

Audrey drained the final drops of Remy in her glass and motioned for another. She wasn't a heavy drinker, but the comfort of the music and the relaxed ambience was too intoxicating to forego. She wasn't ready to return to her suite—not yet. The bartender obliged, refilling her snifter with a knowing grin. Flashing a larger than usual smile, she mouthed the words, " _Start a tab…"_ as she spun around on her barstool. Taking her glass in her right hand, she walked confidently toward the piano, taking a seat on yet another stool at the end of the baby grand. Placing her drink gently atop the sleek ebony surface, she watched the musician at work. Though skilled in many areas, she had absolutely no musical talent. Just a great appreciation for it. She studied his furrowed brow as he moved his hands across the keys with expert precision. His attentions were sharply focused on the instrument and it was several moments before he noticed he was entertaining an audience of one. He stopped playing, offering the woman at the end of the piano a welcoming smile.

"Good evening." He offered.

"Good evening." She answered with a smile.

"If my playing is bothering you…" He started.

"Oh absolutely not. Please continue. You play beautifully." She smiled again.

"Thank you very much." He returned her smile and began to play. It was a song she didn't recognize, but contained a melody she instantly fell in love with.

"Do you have any special requests? A favorite song, perhaps?"

"Oh, goodness! I don't know. I have so many favorites. So difficult to pick just one." She thought for a moment.

"Anything you like, just name it."

"Well, I do love the song you were playing just a moment ago. I think it's called 'Heaven'."

"Ah yes, an oldie but a goodie, as they say. By my dear friend Irving Berlin." He moved his hands across the keys, playing the opening bars of her request. "But it's actually called Cheek-to-Cheek. From the movie Top Hat, with Fred Astaire."

"That's it!" She snapped her fingers with a grin. "I was going mad trying to recall where I'd heard that song."

"It was playing on one the movie channels earlier, I believe?"

"Yes, indeed it was."

"Wonderful song."

"Yes, it is." She agreed enthusiastically _._

Their conversation quieted as he played her special request for the second time that evening. Audrey's eyes fell closed once more as the sultry notes washed over her in soft waves, soothing the savage beasts that had tormented her for days on end. As the closing bars played out, she opened her eyes to find the man staring at her. Instantly she felt the flush on her cheeks—embarrassment mixed with cognac. But he didn't seem to notice, responding only with another genuine smile.

"I hope that was to your satisfaction."

"It was beautiful. Thank you very much."

"How about something new? Surely there's some _special song_ you'd like to hear."

In truth, she had no special song…not the kind she felt he was alluding to anyway. She and Marton never shared anything of great substance—certainly not anything that would qualify as "their song." And even if they had, many years ago, she definitely had no desire to hear it now.

"Well, I guess this will date me slightly, but I've always loved Burt Bacharach."

"Another Burt fan in the house, eh?" He started to play again, a montage of Bacharach's most popular tunes. "Any one song in particular?"

"I love them all."

"You're not helping me here, Ms…?"

"It's Audrey."

"Audrey…?" He pressed, hoping for a surname as well.

"Just Audrey." She smiled shyly.

"Well, Just Audrey, you're going to have to do better than that. You're making me do all the work. Choosing _and_ playing the songs? It's high time you made yourself useful." His teasing was lighthearted and his smile infectious.

"But _you're_ the expert…" The heat of the second cognac filled her and her mind was sluggish. She had suddenly become someone else, flirting with this handsome, talented stranger. It wasn't like her.

"I'm waiting…" He winked.

He continued to play, smiling up at her with a good-natured expression and as he did, she made mental notes of the man before her. His dark hair was combed to one side and just slightly brushed the back collar of his light blue dress shirt. His moustache was neatly trimmed and widened in a friendly way when he smiled. His suit was expensive and well tailored. _My goodness! They must pay their staff royally if he can afford such a costly wardrobe._

"Oh just playing anything you like. I can't think…" She shook her head in playful defeat.

Several seconds of silence elapsed before a sly grin crossed his lips. Looking across with a mix of mischief and honesty in his eyes, he serenaded the blond woman seated across the piano. Substituting Audrey's name for the infamous Alfie, he sang the popular Bacharach tune to her, changing the lyrics here and there and adding his own unique flair.

It was sexy.

And flirtatious.

And left the loquacious absolutely speechless.

It was most definitely a feat that rarely occurred to Audrey fforbes-Hamilton. Years of the finest schools hadn't prepared her for this completely random yet totally natural encounter. She had no idea how to respond. And thus she glanced nervously down at her hands for a moment, circling the rim of her snifter with her slender index finger before meeting his eyes once more. She could do nothing but shake her head and smile at the handsome, intriguing stranger who had created a warm and witty "special song" just for her.

 **Hope you enjoyed Chapter Two! Would love a review!**


	3. Chapter 3

Sensing what appeared to be embarrassment on her now pink cheeks, he quickly took to playing another of Bacharach's hits, breaking eye contact and returning his attentions to the piano. It was only a matter of seconds, however, before she responded to his playful serenade and she chuckled slightly as she spoke.

"Hal David certainly was a brilliant lyricist, wasn't he?"

"Listen, if I've offended you in _any_ way…" His eyes connected with hers once more.

"Don't be silly. I rather enjoyed it." She shared a genuine smile…the first one she'd mustered in weeks.

"I don't normally behave in this manner. It's just that I've spent the last three evenings alone in this very spot. Seems I've forgotten my manners as well as the lyrics."

"I take it this is not your regular gig, then?"

"It's not _my_ gig at all." He stopped playing, sliding his body to the end of the piano bench. Extending his left leg in her direction, he pointed down toward it with a grin.

"Oh my goodness! What on earth happened to you?" She asked, seeing the bright white plaster cast running the length of his leg just below his kneecap.

"A small skiing accident. Let's call a 'misjudgment'."

"A tree, I take it?" Audrey inquired.

"No, actually. A bale of hay." He confirmed with a sigh.

"A bale of hay?"

"A rather fierce bale at that."

"I don't think I understand…"

"I injured my leg skiing down a hill that was neither snow-covered nor suitable for anything aside from cattle grazing."

Audrey laughed. She couldn't help it…picturing this well-spoken, well-appointed man traipsing down some random hillside. "What on earth possessed you to do such a thing?"

"The one thing that possesses all men to engage in ridiculous activities born from conceit and aimed at self-promotion."

"And what exactly might that be?" She asked with a grin.

"Pride." He nodded.

"Oh I'm so sorry. When did this happen?"

"About two weeks ago. But schedules had been cleared and airline tickets had been purchased, so here I am, cast and all." He raised his glass in her direction, draining the final drops of his brandy.

"So you're not employed here at The Grand?"

"Oh good lord no." He shook his head. "The bartender has taken pity on me and given me liberties here at the piano. That, and the bloke who typically occupies this spot moves to the upstairs piano bar every evening at ten."

"From World Class Skier to Resort-Entertainer-Pro-Tem?" She gave the top of the piano a gentle pat.

"Hardly. I'm not advanced enough to even qualify as an amateur." He laughed.

"Well, I'm sure your skills as a musician more than make up for whatever skiing ability you may or may not have. As I said, you play beautifully. Listening to you has been the highlight of my evening, Mr.…?"

"It's Richard." He extended his hand in her direction. " _Just_ Richard."

"Nice to meet you."

"Likewise."

They spent the next hour engaged in lighthearted, flirtatous conversation, covering a vast array of topics-everything from foreign policy to football. They took turns playing the role of straight man; every quip laced with hints of mutual attraction. Audrey's cheeks hurt from smiling and soon the handful of patrons around them melted away until she and Richard seemed to be the only two people in the bar.

"Well, _Just_ Richard, would you do me the honor of one final song before I make my exit? That is if you're feeling up to it."

"You're not ready to call it a night, are you?" He quickly eyed his watch. "I thought perhaps you might like another drink." He motioned in an effort to secure the bartender's attention.

"No, I've reached my limit. Surpassed it, actually. But thank you for the kind offer."

"Well, I've yet to reach my limit. Liquid pain relief, you know." He smiled warmly, tucking his infirmity back beneath the piano. "Now I must insist that, for my final number, _you_ supply me with a title. I won't take no for an answer."

He played a few more bars of Bacharach, eagerly anticipating her request as he watched her from the corner of his eye. There was something about her…something he couldn't quite place his finger upon. Maybe it was the ease of their conversation or the way she wrinkled her nose when she laughed. Maybe it was three lonely evenings and several nightcaps swimming around inside his head. Whatever it was, Just Audrey was about to breeze out of the piano bar just as mysteriously as she'd breezed in…and for some reason, he didn't want to see her go.

"Have you been playing long?" She asked.

"Are you stalling?" His eyes were still turned down toward the keys, but she could see the faint curl of a smile on his lips.

"Certainly not. I'm just making polite conversation."

"I've played most all my life—since I was about four. My mother could have been a concert pianist. She's the real talent. I just happened to pick up a few things along the way. But I have some very bad habits, according to her, so I don't play very much anymore."

"And you sing as well?"

"Not really. That'd be the brandy." He gave a nod toward his empty glass.

"Well, you've made what might otherwise have been a very boring evening a very enjoyable one."

"Thank you." A softer smile appeared on his lips, while his fingers continued to move lightly across the keys. After a moment, he spoke again.

"Time's up. Song title please."

"How about a composer? I give you a name, you pick the song. Fair enough?"

"Sounds like a first-rate scam." He eyed her suspiciously.

"It's the best I can do." She shrugged.

"Well, if that's all you've got…"

"I do adore Gershwin."

"Gershwin? Interesting choice."

"Is that too cliché?"

"No. But you're hardly old enough to be a Gershwin Girl."

"Is that a line?" She asked.

"It's the best I can do." He replied with a smirk.

She paused a moment before sharing a flirtatious grin. "Sounds like a first-rate scam to me."

"Well then…here's a little Gershwin for a lovely lady." He bowed his head, moving his fingers across the keys, and feeling his heart beat a tiny bit faster. He took a deep breath then began his final serenade…whisper singing the words to the delightful woman seated across from him. When he'd finished and the final notes had faded softly away, Audrey found herself breathless once more. Their eyes connected again and she felt that same flush fall across her cheeks.

 _Audrey fforbes-Hamilton, what in bloody hell are you doing? Stop this nonsense at once! Stop coming on to a total stranger in a dark, deserted piano bar in the middle of Switzerland_. _It's completely out of character and totally inappropriate_.

"That was lovely. Thank you." Her eyes sparkled in his direction as she slipped from the barstool. On her feet, she suddenly felt the effects of the two large snifters of cognac and she prayed a silent prayer that she make it out of the bar without falling flat on her face.

"Are you sure you wouldn't care for another drink? We could move to a table if you like." He struggled to stand, slipping clumsily and banging the keys in noisy fashion as he steadied himself.

"It is rather late." She consulted her watch. Midnight had slipped in—totally unnoticed.

"Yes, I suppose it is."

An awkward silence hung between them and Audrey knew that she needed to turn and walk away. But forces beyond that of the alcohol kept her feet planted firmly on the dark red carpet. The bar was quiet…except for the sound of Marjory's words whirling around inside her head.

"I guess one more drink wouldn't hurt." She sighed with a smile.

"That's the spirit!" He motioned again for the bartender, carefully ushering Audrey toward a small round table for two. His hand rested momentarily on the small of her back and it was then that she began to feel that perhaps she'd made the wrong choice. She'd barely settled herself in the oversized club chair when the bartender reappeared.

"More of the same? You were drinking Remy, is that right?" Richard asked.

"I should probably make the switch to unleaded. I'll have a small cup of coffee." She answered, impressed that he'd paid such close attention to her previous beverage choice.

"Make it two, Tom."

"Right away, Guv'ner." The older gentleman nodded, winking at Audrey before disappering behind the bar.

Tucking her hands nervously in her lap, she waited. The piano had served them well, acting as both a buffer and a safety net for conversation. Now, alone with nothing more than the light of a small candle between them, Audrey felt uncomfortable…without a thing to say.

"How long have you been here at The Grand." He asked.

"I just arrived this afternoon."

"It's a breathtaking hotel."

"It certainly is." She nodded in agreement.

"Will you be staying long?" He asked after another moment of silence.

"Only through the weekend." She answered in a mild tone. _What happened to the friendly, flirty banter? Where's that confidence that flowed through my veins just minutes ago? Oh why didn't I just go back to my suite?_

The bartender returned, balancing a small tray. He served Audrey first before filling Richard's cup.

"There's a phone call for you, Sir."

"Would you mind taking a message for me, Tom?"

"I would, Sir…but it's Mrs. Polouvicka." He tried to speak in a whisper, but Audrey heard every word.

Obviously embarrassed, Richard laughed, sliding his chair back away from the table. "I'm so sorry. Would you excuse me for one brief moment?"

She'd no time to answer before he was hobbling toward the bar; a cane giving him necessary assistance. His back to her, she watched him through the mirror behind the bar. She gathered from his expression that he was none too pleased. _Well that makes two of us!_

She stood, purse tucked firmly under her arm, and walked briskly toward the door and out into the lobby. Like everything else in her world, she couldn't afford to look back. To her surprise, she found an elevator ready and waiting and in less than two mintues, she was back inside the safety of her suite. Her heart beat loudly as she turned the lock on the door. Turning, she surveyed the room as she slipped out of her shoes. The scant remains of dinner, still sitting quietly on the small table in front of the window. The champagne, resting in a bath of melted ice. Captain Wentworth, still waiting patiently for her on the bedside table.

She didn't even bother to brush her teeth. Dropping her sweater and skirt in a rumpled mass on the floor, she crawled into bed wearing only her silk slip. She extinguished the lamplight and buried herself once more beneath layers of bed linens. _God, I am such a fool._ She was too mad to cry. She doubted if she had any tears left at all. _How perfectly ironic. How bloody, perfectly ironic!_

Lying in the darkness, she silently cursed her weakness for several minutes. She was just beginning to explore a host of hostile adjectives to describe her grave lapse in judgement when the phone beside her bed rang. Sitting up, her heartbeat up'd its rhythm. _Surely not! He doesn't even know my last name._ She rested her hand on the receiver, afraid to pick it up _. If that bartender did the unthinkable…_

Bringing the phone to her ear, she listened for a moment before addressing the party on the other end.

"Yes?" She answered cooly.

"Aud? Is that you?"

"Marjory! Oh good heavens!"

"Did I wake you?"

"No, but you scared me half to death."

"I'm sorry, dear. Are you alright."

"Yes, I'm fine. How on earth did you find me? I didn't tell a soul…not even Brabinger."

"What you lovingly refer to as 'tradition' I call predictability."

"Yes, I guess you're right." She let out a heavy sigh.

"Where've you been? I've dialed your room at least a dozen times over the last hour. I'm sure the hotel operator thinks I'm mad."

"She's not the only one."

"Oh, so I take it you're still upset about our exchange last night. Listen, Audrey, I'd really like to apolo—"

"No, Marjory, it's not that. But since we're on the subject, I'm the one that should be apologizing. I've been under a great deal of stress and you were right. I am truly sorry."

"It's okay. I understand…really I do."

"I know you do." The disappointment in her voice echoed and Marjory knew something was wrong.

"What's wrong? And don't brush me off…I know something's wrong and I'm not hanging up this phone until we talk it out."

"Nothing's wrong. Unless you call acting the grand fool at the urging of my best friend nothing."

"See there! I was right. Sarcasm equals pain. My god, Audrey, you _are_ predictable. What happened?"

"Oh it was nothing really. I popped down to the bar for a nightcap, sat at the piano for over an hour, and flirted shamelessly with some piano-playing, would-be womanizer."

"And what's wrong with that?" Marjory teased.

"Nothing. Unless you take into account that he's _married_."

"Uh-oh."

"Uh-oh is right. That's the last time I listen to you."

"Me? How on earth can you possibly put this on me?"

"Because you put that ridiculous notion in my head—the one about _being someone else_."

"Oh Audrey, come on!"

"I did. To him, I mean. And the strange thing was that it was so _easy._ "

"It's not strange. You're a widow, Aud, not a nun."

"Yes, well, he made it very easy. Tall, dark and handsome. And married. A Marton fforbes-Hamilton in sheep's clothes—right down to the custom-tailored suit and perfect English accent. It's like I'm a magnetically attracted to scoundrels."

"How do you know he's married."

"Because _Mrs_. Poo…Mrs. Poo-something called down to the bar looking for him. That's when I left."

"Ouch. Well, you did the right thing by leaving."

"Didn't even say goodbye. Marched straight to the lift and to my suite."

"I'm so sorry, dear. You've had quite a day haven't you?"

"Not one my better ones, no."

"Are you coming home soon?"

"I think I'll take a train out in the morning." Audrey paused, twisting the phone cord around her finger as she lay still in her bed. "I tried, Marjory, I really tried. But I have too much on my mind to relax. I let my guard down for one moment and what did it get me? A handsome, quick-witted but more importantly married polish musician with a limp. Definitley not my type."

"What?"

"It's a long story. I'll tell you about it later." She yawned.

"I wish there was something I could do to help you."

"I'm beyond help, I'm afraid."

"Ring me when you get home?"

"I will." Audrey yawned once more. "And Marjory?"

"Yes?"

"Thanks for checking up on me."

"Of course, dear. G'night."

 **Now's a great time to leave a review!**


	4. Chapter 4

_"Would you like me to bring the car around, Madam?" Brabinger poked his head inside the door of the small drawing room. The fireplace was dark, yet Bertie lay sleeping comfortably beside the hearth._

 _"What for?" Audrey asked, standing at the window of the small lodge house; a pale pink robe wrapped around her slim frame. Not the standard dress for a British spy, but the binoculars in her hands left little question as to her agenda for the evening: Cinderella would watch the ball from a safe distance._

 _"Well I feel you ought to arrive in style, Madam." Her meek butler folded his hands nervously. "I mean, you can hardly walk on an occasion like this."_

 _"That's very sweet of you, Brabinger...but I'm not going." Giving the binoculars a defeated tap, she moved away from the window; the sounds of music and revelry echoing loudly from the direction of the manor._

 _"Not going, Madam?"_

 _"Yes, I haven't been invited."_

 _"But I understood, Madam, that you were to be the hostess."_

 _"Apparently not. I just did all the work and made the whole thing possible. As a matter of fact, I'm rather tired so I shall stay at home."_

 _"Shall I convey your apologizes?" The elderly gentleman continued to wring his hands._

 _"Certainly not. Why should I apologize to him?"_

 _"As he is the host, I..." Brabinger started._

 _"He may be the host, but as he failed to invite me, I am not his guest." She paused a moment, poking her finger against the armrest of her oversized club chair. "If anything he should be conveying his apologies to me."_

 _"Yes, Madam. Oh, this would never have happened in the old days."_

 _"It most certainly would not." She stood, pacing nervously around the room. "Oh well, you and I will have to make up a pleasant little twosome."_

 _"Me? Accompany you to the ball, Madam?"_

 _"No, not the ball. I was hoping you'd join me in a quiet game of Scrabble." She located the board game and handed it to her butler with a slight smile._

 _"Ah! Very good, Madam." He took the box from Audrey's hand with a nod before settling himself on the sofa._

 _Audrey retrieved her binoculars once more, taking another long distance peek at the festivities at the manor while Brabinger went to work arranging the small Scrabble tiles along his wooden rack. She excelled at many things-philanthropy, hostessing...and a lesser known talent: acting. Audrey could summon a stiff upper lip in her sleep. But this time, standing at the window of the small cottage on the edge of the estate, she didn't bother. Her feelings were hurt. And her absence at the ball, she hoped, would speak volumes. She returned to her chair where Brabinger waited patiently across from her._

 _They spent a good portion of the evening at the Scrabble board, trading quips and consulting dictionary entries. The music at Grantleigh continued to play, growing louder as the evening grew older. She tried to ignore the festive sounds, but found she couldn't concentrate. Visions of couples dressed in their ballroom finery clouded her mind, making one thing abundantly clear. There was only one place she longed to be-in the manor and in his arms with the music swirling around them. She'd never seen him in a tuxedo, and now, thanks to stubbornness, she might never get the chance. Damn it, Audrey! What the hell were you thinking? You've ruined it!_

 _Eventually, she grew bored with her favorite board game and sensed that her faithful butler had as well. She was about to suggest they call it a night when she froze, hearing a familiar sound in the distance._

 _"There's the Master's Ride." She exhaled as the trumpet fare sounded across the estate. I suppose he's taking her into dinner, she thought, looking down and studying a letter tile with a hint of sadness in her eyes. It was no use. The board game, the small talk with Brabinger, the determination to make a statement without saying a word-all failed attempts to hide her pain. Inside, she was screaming...and doubtful that he could hear her above the din of party goers across the estate. Regrettably, for the thousandth time in her life, Audrey fforbes-Hamilton allowed her blue-blooded pride to guide her...fearful of where her heart might lead._

 _Feigning fatigue, she dismissed Brabinger for the evening. He smiled warmly, giving a slight bow before retiring to his upstairs bedroom. The clock in the hall chimed softly and Audrey consulted her watch-a harsh confirmation that the night, and her chance to be alone with him, were coming to a close. Curling up on the couch, she flipped through a series of magazines though she never read a word. The band was still playing, but the noisy, upbeat tunes had been replaced with slow, jazzy sounds. She imagined him holding a number of willing dance partners, but that thought only lasted a moment as a voice from across the room brought her thoughts back in focus._

 _"May I come in?" He asked, stepping from the patio inside the dimly lit drawing room._

 _Audrey looked up, completely stunned to see him standing before her. His tall frame and dark features accentuated his jet black tuxedo, and he looked even more handsome than Audrey imagined. Before she had a chance to answer, he spoke again._

 _"I just wanted to say how sorry I am."_

 _"What about?" She asked, trying her best to remain cool._

 _"Tricking you into organizing the ball. I was going to make amends by asking you to be my partner."_

 _"But you didn't."_

 _"No, I was told that traditionally you always went with the Master. And I know how you feel about tradition."_

 _"I suppose she told you that?"_

 _"I forget now." He glanced down at the floor, avoiding her eyes for a moment._

 _"Oh don't bother to defend her. You're welcome to her. You better get back before she misses you."_

 _"I didn't go to the ball. I was too busy." He paused, looking down at her with eyes full of regret. From behind his back he produced a beautiful bouquet of flowers, tied with a pink satin ribbon that matched her robe. There were so many things he wanted to tell her...so many words trapped inside him that he longed to say. But to say them would be to reveal his true feelings, and rejection from Audrey was something he didn't think he could bear._

 _"What a lovely surprise," she smiled. "Thank you."_

 _"If I had a magic wand, Cinders, I could still take you to the ball."_

 _"I've never thought of myself as Cinders before..." She smiled slyly, knowing it was time to drop the wounded school girl routine. Staying mad at him was another talent she lacked._

 _"Might be rather fun." She considered, tossing the bouquet on the end of the sofa before turning to face him. "Wave your magic wand, Fairy Godmother." She smiled up at him._

 _Not sure whether to take her seriously, he hesitated for a split second before waving his hands in the air. "Abracadabra." He offered with a chuckle._

 _Audrey stood, still wearing an enormous smile as she untied the sash of her robe, letting it fall gently to the floor._

 _"Oh! You. Look. Breathtaking."_

 _"Thank you." A responded with a hint of shyness._

 _He surveyed the woman before him, elegantly clad in a gorgeous floor length gown. He studied its color for a moment, but couldn't assign it a name. Was it gold? Platinum, maybe? Whatever it was, its metallic shimmer made her eyes shine. The thin straps crossed over her pale shoulders, exposing the delicate skin of her neck and back. The silky fabric wrapped around her, emphasizing every curve. He suddenly forget where he was and as if guided by some mystical force, he found himself reaching out for her with both hands. In seconds, they stood cheek to cheek on the small patio outside the drawing room, swaying quietly as the faint sounds of the band drifted around them. With her hand firmly in his, he buried his head in her hair, drinking in her scent and silently cursing himself for being a coward. Wake up, Man! This is what you want! To spend the rest of your life holding this woman! Just tell her._

 _"Couldn't I turn into your Prince Charming?" He whispered in her ear; her hair brushing against his lips._

 _"Perhaps." She whispered back._

 _She had no other words, and frankly didn't care to ruin the moment by talking. She'd dreamed of this for so long-to feel his arms around her. Nothing else matters now. To hell with tradition. To hell with the manor. Just don't let me go. Please don't let me go. She gave his hand a squeeze, pressing her cheek closer to his. Feeling his breath against her ear, she tried desperately to keep her eyes open-to take in every seductive moment. But she was helpless, as the soft sounds of the band combined with his gentle touch. In seconds, she was moving with him to the rhythm of the music with eyes happily closed. But the moment was short lived and the song ended. Audrey was certain he could feel her heart beating inside her chest as he held her for several seconds more in quiet stillness on the moonlit patio._

 _"Is that it?" She asked._

 _"Sounds like it." He pulled back slightly, looking into her eyes. "I'm afraid Cinders didn't have very long at the ball."_

 _"On the other hand, she got home safely with both shoes and Prince Charming." She ran her hand along the lapel of his jacket. "Would you like to come in for a nightcap?"_

 _"Audrey..." He placed his hand gently atop hers, giving it another squeeze as their eyes connected. Again, that mysterious force returned and he lifted her hand to his mouth, lightly brushing his lips against her skin. His moustache tickled the back of her hand and his eyes remained locked intensely on her. Drawing a deep breath, she knew she had to stop his advance._

 _"Richard, no..." She shook her head and tried to pull away. But he wouldn't relinquish his grasp, wrapping his arm firmly around her waist and holding her body tightly against his. He dropped her hand, moving his fingers gently through her blond hair._

 _"Richard, please..." She pleaded again, though her words were barely above a whisper. The sound of the trumpet began to echo in the distance, growing louder with each passing moment and she felt herself falling..._

Gasping for breath, she sat up in bed. For a moment she forget where she was, not immediately recognizing the elegant suite at the base of the Bernese mountains. Tiny beads of sweat dotted her forehead and she kicked off layers of blankets to cool herself. The alarm clock continued to sound, and she struggled to focus on the numbers glowing in the darkness of her room. 5:45 a.m. After several moments of fumbling, she silenced the clock and fell back against the pillows. Blotting her face with the edge of the sheet, she closed her eyes and tried to calm her breathing. In the early morning quiet of the suite, Audrey dissected the bizarre dream that interrupted her sleep. _What in bloody hell? The man from the bar? Living in my house?_ It was preposterous, for sure, and after a good laugh, she convinced herself that it was nothing more than a combination of stress, fatigue, and cognac. Too much cognac.

Turning onto her side, she slipped her hands underneath her pillow and exhaled loudly. She'd grab a few more minutes of sleep before checking out of the hotel and returning to the train station. But images of the charming man at the piano filled her head and for a brief moment, she could almost feel his mustache on her hand.

 **Enjoying the story? Let me know with a review!**


	5. Chapter 5

Good Morning, Mother." He bent down, kissing the elderly woman lightly on the cheek.

"Morning? It's practically afternoon." She looked up at her son with a reproachful glare.

"Oh honestly...it's not even eleven o'clock." He glanced at his watch before taking a seat across from her. With a wave and a slight smile, he secured the attention of the waiter, eager to order breakfast-namely a large cup of black coffee. The elegant dining room inside the resort was less than half full, with most die hard skiers on the slopes at daybreak.

"If you are going to be late then at least have the courtesy to let me know. Really, Bedriche...I know I taught you some manners somewhere along the way." She scolded him with a heavy Eastern European accent.

"I'm not that late. And I notice you didn't bother to wait." He pointed at the empty plate in front of her.

"I suppose that you have an excellent excuse as usual." She took a sip of her tea.

"Oh I have an excuse, but I doubt it's one that you'd consider excellent."

"Try me."

"I had a very rough night, Mother, no thanks to you." With a look of relief, he smiled up at the approaching waiter bearing a silver coffee carafe.

"Me? I didn't even see you after dinner. What did I do?"

"No, you didn't _see_ me...but you _called_ me. In the bar. Remember?"

"And my one phone call ruined your whole evening, is that it?" She asked.

"Yes, actually." He nodded, taking the first healing sip from his steamy mug. His head was now paying the price for overindulging the night before.

"I was only following orders. Mr. Abernathy called and said it was urgent."

"In the world according to Abernathy, _everything_ is urgent."

"Well I certainly had no intention of spoiling your evening." She looked down at the remains of her meal; her lowered tone conveying remorse.

"Oh Mother, I know you didn't. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make you feel bad." He reached out and patted her wrinkled hand. "It's okay. Really. I promise." He gave her a smile.

"Was it an important business deal?"

"No, nothing like that. In fact, it had nothing to do with business at all."

"An important _pleasure_ deal, then?"

"Mother!"

"They say you are never to mix the two. If it wasn't business that I unknowingly interrupted, then it must have been the other."

He didn't answer right away, and he couldn't hide the smirk on his face either.

"Seducing another one by way of a Steinway, are you?" She whispered with a playful grin.

"Mother, really!" He looked around nervously, hoping that her comments were not being overheard.

"Let me guess. A Parisian cosmetics heiress? Or perhaps a juvenile Italian model like before."

"She was in her late twenties, Mother." He positioned a linen napkin neatly on his lap as the waiter placed his breakfast order on the table.

"You were old enough to be her father."

"Hardly. Big brother, perhaps." He teased, shaking salt onto his eggs.

Several moments of silence passed-Richard enjoying his breakfast while his mother watched him with a curious look.

"Well?" She asked.

"Well what?"

"Who is she?"

"Who is who?"

"The woman you were entertaining in the bar last night."

"I don't know, really."

"Does she have a name?"

"Yes. It's Audrey."

"Audrey what?"

"Just Audrey." He smiled again, thinking back to a number of clever exchanges they'd made in the bar.

"Is she Swiss?"

"No. English."

"Very young and very beautiful, no doubt?"

"Not much on either account, to be honest. Mid-thirties I'd guess. Attractive, but in a different way."

"Different? What do you mean?"

"I don't know exactly. She's not what I'd describe as a raving beauty, but she _is_ attractive. Tall. Blond. Nice figure. Slim. Impeccable taste and pleasant demeanor. She has a wickedly sharp sense of humor and an infectious laugh. She's very intelligent too-very smart woman."

"And you found all this out in one evening, yet didn't find out her last name?"

"I asked, but she didn't offer. It makes no difference anyway." He sighed heavily.

"Why is that?"

"Because she's married." He tapped his bare finger, signaling the presence of wedding ring.

"Married?" She couldn't hide the look of shock. "Bedriche, what were you thinking?"

" _She_ was coming on to _me_ , Mother. Not the other way around."

"Where was her husband?"

"I've no idea. Asleep I suppose. Or perhaps he was trying _his_ luck in the upstairs piano bar." He winked.

"This is not something to joke about. You of all people, I would think, would not find this the least bit funny." She shook her head disapprovingly.

"The whole thing was completely innocent. She sat down at the piano and we talked. That was it."

"If it was all so innocent, then how could my little phone call _ruin_ your entire evening?"

"When I went over to the bar to take the call, she left. I turned around and she'd vanished. One minute we were ordering coffee and the next minute she was gone."

"She was probably afraid of getting caught. That's all you need. It's not like you can outrun an irate, jealous husband." She pointed down at his cast.

"You know, I even had a dream about her last night. Strangest thing, really. We were at a stable looking at different horses."

"Horses? But you hate riding."

"I don't hate it, Mother. I just don't know how." He corrected. "Anyway, she helped me pick out a beautiful horse and then we went back to this grand old country estate. We sat together inside a lovely drawing room in front of the fireplace. Only instead of a roaring, cozy fire, there was a large bank safe in the fireplace, filled with money."

"A safe full of money? In the fireplace?"

"Odd isn't it." He paused and sighed, remembering the image of his late night companion. "She was wearing jodhpurs and boots...and I must admit she did look quite beautiful. Very natural."

"Riding boots? In the piano bar?"

"No, Mother...in the _dream_." He stopped once more, seeing her bright eyes in the light of the candle that burned atop the small table inside the dim bar. "We were having such a good time-laughing and talking." His voice trailed off. "I didn't even have a chance to tell her good-bye." He continued. "I searched the lobby and the other bar. Twice. I hobbled all over this damn hotel for close to an hour looking for her. And with a cast and an undisclosed amount of alcohol in my bloodstream, that was no easy task, I can assure you."

"And that brings us back to your excellent excuse. You were late because you stayed up drinking and cavorting with a married woman who made you look like a fool...chasing after her until all hours. Oh Bedriche." She shook her head again.

"I knew you wouldn't approve." He smiled slyly.

"I never do." She winked.

* * *

The landscape outside was nothing more than a shadowy blur as the high speed train made its way toward London. The day was coming to a close-a very long day. The mountain hideaway had done little to refocus her mind and instead of feeling refreshed, her body ached with exhaustion. She still had a long drive ahead of her, possibly the last time she'd follow the familiar route from the big city to her country estate. It would be late when the lights of her Rolls bounced off the stone facade of Grantleigh. _Probably too late to contact Arnold_ , she considered, running a heavy hand through her hair.

She remained sequestered in her seat for much of the return trip, staring out the window with a numb expression. Explicit instructions had been outlined, and she was eager to hear Mr. Plunkett's response to her lengthy letter. _Has he set the wheels in motion? Are eager buyers already circling the estate, salivating at the chance to own a piece of England's history? Will the sale of the manor be enough to cancel Marton's debt? Will there be even one single pound note left over to fund the next chapter?_ Her brief holiday in the chic Swiss village held no insight to the questions that ricocheted rapidly through her head. And adding further confusion, a new image lurked in the folds her mind. An image of an intelligent, witty, handsome man with a talent for playing the piano and making her laugh. A man who, according to a twisted dream, looked incredible in a tuxedo and described her as breathtaking. _How could a few minutes of cocktail conversation and a couple of Gershwin tunes elicit such a bizarre nightmare?_ A hint of a smile curled along her lips as she replayed scenes that were still amazingly vivid in her mind. The premise of the dream, she knew with complete certainty, was totally ludicrous. _Living in the lodge house with Brabinger? Richard Poo-something playing Lord of the Manor?_ _Dancing on the patio with the Hunt Ball echoing in the distance?_

The idea was laughable and would make a delightful read, should she ever decide to summon her inner Austen. Though she'd never admit it, she secretly hoped to catch a glimpse of her late night bar mate in the lobby as she settled up her account. She'd strolled near the piano bar and lingered by the entrance of the dining room, pretending to study various groupings of artwork along the hotel walls before departing for the train station. But Just Richard was no where to be seen. And inside, a tiny piece of Audrey felt the slightest tinge of disappointment. _Yes, I know he's married. But it doesn't hurt to look._

"Oh Madam, you scared me." Brabinger jumped in surprise when he entered the drawing room. Not expecting to the see Audrey, his hand shot immediately to his heart.

"I'm so sorry, Brabinger." She looked up from the quiet comfort of the sofa where she sat stroking Bertie's head. Only a few coals remained in the fireplace as the first rays of daylight filtered through beige sheers.

"I wasn't sure when to expect you. I'll let the staff know you've returned. I'm certain we can have breakfast prepared and ready to serve momentarily."

"Oh, don't bother. I'm really not very hungry." She sighed.

"Are you unwell, Madam?" He inquired.

"No, no...just tired."

"I gather it was quite late when you returned then?"

"Yes, it was very late." She yawned.

"I could bring a tray to your bedroom if you like." He suggested.

"As lovely as that sounds, I'll be leaving shortly." She stood, smoothing the wrinkles from her skirt.

"Another trip, Madam?"

"No, nothing like that. I'm meeting with Arnold. At his office. In fact..." She checked her watch. "I better go. He's expecting me." She gave Bertie another playful pat. "You did deliver the message to Mr. Plunkett?"

"Immediately following your departure."

"Excellent." She smiled.

"Will you be attending services this morning?"

"I will do my best to be back in time."

"I'd be happy to accompany you, Madam."

"No, that won't be necessary. But I certainly appreciate the offer." Pulling her coat onto her shoulders, she gave him a reassuring pat on the back as she passed.

Once outside the manor, her cheeks were met with a crisp breeze. She was running on only a few hours of sleep-none of them truly restful. The manor was dark and quiet when she'd arrived and to her knowledge, no one was aware of her return. The labyrinth of unanswered questions still swirled in her mind. Questions that couldn't wait for a work day. A call to Mr. Plunkett pulled him from dreams before five o'clock. She was both restless and eager to move forward-and thankful that Arnold agreed to open his office and meet with her on a Sunday.

The countryside was beginning to wake up and she paid special attention to the landscape that had defined her life as she made her way along the winding drive. She slowed the car as she approached the lodge house, noticing that her heart began to beat faster than usual. Scenes from her cognac-induced dream returned with extreme clarity. Dream Audrey had taken up residence in the modest cottage, she recalled, while her Polish piano player had taken over her precious Grantleigh. She drew a deep breath-whether it was the cool air of late winter or the bright sunlight against the windshield of the Rolls, she couldn't decide. Whatever the reason, the oddity of the arrangement that woke her from peaceful rest just two nights before now seemed significantly less odd. _Could I?_ She wondered _. Does it really seem so absurd? It's not the manor, but it's still part of the estate..._

"Audrey, my dear..." Arnold Plunkett offered his hand before taking her coat.

"I can't tell you how much I appreciate this, Arnold." She shook her hair away from her face, taking a seat in front of the large oak desk.

"You sounded desperate this morning."

"Desperate, yes. And exhausted. And confused."

"Now, now..." Arnold waved her off with a grin before taking a seat.

"Did you get my letter?" She inquired.

"Yes I did." He nodded.

"And?" Audrey pressed.

"And it's all arranged. The property has been listed and the auction will take place on Friday."

"Which Friday?" Audrey asked, rifling through her handbag for her day planner.

"This Friday, my dear."

" _This_ Friday? But that's in five days."

"You are quite skilled in mathematics." Arnold teased.

"I can't possibly be out of Grantleigh in five days." The tears that fell so readily inside the mountainside suite we're poised to return.

"My dear Audrey, I am only following your request." He reached down and pulled open a desk drawer. An envelope was removed and placed on the desk between them. Slipping his hand inside his jacket, he produced a pair of glasses and positioned them on his face. "According to your letter..." He started.

"Arnold, I am fully aware of the contents of the letter."

"I believe the phrase in question is _'as soon as possible.'_ Friday was the earliest date available. And the banks are very anxious to settle up."

"But what about the staff? And my things?" The image of Arnold began to blur slightly as tears began to form in the corners of her eyes.

"My dear, it's all been arranged. The appraisal company, the auction house...everything. Done."

"The auction house? So it will be sold in London? Sight unseen?"

"Oh no, dear. The auction will take place at the manor."

"So when the gavel pounds on Friday, I'll be officially out?"

"Of course not. Thirty days is customary. Drawing up transfers, waiting for funding and such. You'll have plenty of time to get your personal effects in order."

"Thirty days?"

"I've taken the liberty of contacting an agent in London. To secure housing." He paused a moment. "For yourself."

"London? But what about Mr. Huntwick?"

"Huntwick? Heavens, no. He's a century and a half old if he's a day. I'm sure he knows nothing of the London real estate market."

"What on earth makes you think I'm moving to London?" She asked with an exasperated tone.

"Well, I just assumed-"

"Country Girls live in the country, Arnold."

"Even middle-aged, recently widowed Country Girls?" He shot a serious look over the top of his glasses.

"Especially middle-aged, recently widowed ones." She folded her arms firmly across her chest.

"Be realistic, Audrey. Do you honestly think you'll be happy living in Marlbury?"

"Of course. I've never lived anywhere else."

"And what about the estate?"

"What about it?"

"It won't belong to you anymore. New owners. A new order. An order that _won't_ bear your name anymore."

"What exactly are you trying to say, Arnold?"

"I'm worried." He answered after another pregnant pause.

"Well thank you. That sentiment gives me great comfort, knowing that I've put all my faith and trust in you and your ability to handle my affairs."

"Audrey, I just want you to be happy. And living in the shadow of the life you so desperately want will bring you many things, but happiness won't be one of them."

She sat in silence for a minute or two, dropping her gaze down and examining the plaid pattern on her skirt. A frayed thread caught her eye and she twisted it nervously. She knew he was right. Arnold Plunkett, where the fforbes-Hamiltons were concerned, was seldom wrong. A long line of Plunketts, accountants and attorneys, had wisely advised her family for generations. And as much as she hated to concede, she knew there was no other way.

"What in bloody hell am I to do in London?"

"Start over. Get remarried. You're young yet, my dear. Your whole life in front of you..."

"Two seconds ago I was a middle-aged widow." She raised an eyebrow in his direction.

They spent the next hour discussing the particulars of the sale. Audrey fired question after question in rapid succession, but Arnold remained calm, answering every inquiry with complete confidence. Finally, exhausted and overwhelmed by the events that would transpire at Grantleigh in the coming week, she sighed heavily. Checking her watch once more, she found she would just make it back in time to hear Rector's sermon if she hurried. She looked up at Arnold, still fighting back tears, and offered a weak smile.

"Audrey, Dear, promise me one thing?" He stood, signaling the end of their meeting.

"What's that?" She rose in return.

"Don't confuse tradition with stubbornness." He shared a genuine smile. "Some traditions are meant to be broken."

 **Audrey? Stubborn? ;)**

 **Would love a review!**


	6. Chapter 6

"I thought I might find you here." Marjory called.

She climbed across a mass of undergrowth to the cracked concrete stairs that led up into what the fforbes-Hamilton clan referred to as "Peregrine's Folly,"-a small, Greek styled structure that served as a hidden observatory perched atop a hill overlooking the entire Grantleigh estate. It was no surprise that her best friend has chosen this particular spot to ride out the storm. Audrey had spent many painful, confused hours hiding up in the cozy nest, surrounded by the lush country landscaped that she loved. But she made no indication of Marjory's presence, sitting and staring straight ahead without so much as blinking.

Marjory studied her childhood schoolmate for several moments before taking a seat on the rickety wooden bench beside her. Though she'd only uttered a handful of words all week, Audrey's body language told the real story. The proud posture that so suited a woman of her deportment was now slumped and depressed. Her normally perfect blond pageboy was now a tangled mass of strands that hadn't received an ounce of attention in days. And, Marjory learned upon closer inspection, she was still wearing the same turtleneck sweater and vest that she'd worn the day before. Her heart ached for her friend, knowing that there was nothing in the world she could do to relieve her suffering. Anyone else might have taken Audrey by the shoulders, shaking her back into reality and forcing her to move on. But Marjory's genteel soul kept her quietly seated at Audrey's side, waiting patiently for a sign and a bit of conversation.

"Is it over?" Audrey whispered after several minutes of silence.

"Yes, it's over."

"And who was the lucky winner?" Audrey asked with a facetious tone. "An oil tycoon from Abu Dhabi or a Mick Jagger wannbe?" She wiped traces of tears with a small wrinkled handkerchief, continuing to stare straight ahead.

"Neither." Marjory sighed. "His name's DeVere. Runs some international sales firm. I'm sure Arnold will fill you in on all the particulars. He said to tell you he'd be waiting in the library. Whenever you're ready. No rush." Taking Audrey's hand in hers, she patted it with sisterly support.

"How many?" She asked after another moment of silence.

"How many what, Dear?"

"Prospective buyers."

"Oh, I don't know really."

"If you had to venture a guess?" She snapped.

"A lot. Maybe fifty."

"A large kill equals a lot of buzzards."

"They seemed to be a very civilized lot."

"Anyone I'd know?"

"Well of course not. You're the largest land owner in all of Marlbury. Most can scarcely afford their own meager plots. I didn't recognize a soul other than Arnold, the Brigadier, and that housing chap that's been calling. Anderson, isn't it?"

"Yes, J.J. Anderson. Another buzzard circling overhead." Audrey sighed. "He's quite eager to find an answer to my housing crisis. That and a hefty commission."

"He and Arnold were engaged in what appeared to be a very spirited conversation with the new owner just after the bidding ending."

"What about?"

"I've no idea. Old boys club talk I suspect. But you know Arnold. Always the gentlemen and the first one to extend congratulations."

"Is he English?"

"Mr. Anderson?"

"No, not J.J. The new owner."

"Yes." Marjory nodded.

"What does he look like?" Audrey questioned.

"Audrey, let's not do this." Marjory pleaded.

"But I have to know." Her whisper was filled with emotion as she turned her head and locked eyes with her best friend. It was the first time in days that Audrey had really looked at anyone. Last minute details with the auction house and the bank examiner had made it too easy for her to ignore everyone...including herself.

"I wish I could tell you that he's some wretched ogre without an ounce of class and zero chance of making a-go of this estate. But I..." Shaking her head, Marjory released a heavy sigh.

"Extremely wealthy?"

"I'd say so."

"Dressed for success?"

"Like he just stepped out of a magazine."

"Shoes?"

"Polished. Almost glowing."

"Manners?"

"Impeccable, from what I could tell."

"I suppose he's handsome too?"

"Tall and Dark. Just the way we generally like them."

"Marjory, surely you can find at least one flaw. Give me something- _anything_." Audrey begged.

"I only observed the man for five minutes. I don't know what you want."

"Just one thing. One tiny detail to make me hate him, aside from the fact that he now owns my most cherished possession."

"I don't know, Aud. I don't think he's the type of man that women can hate."

* * *

Arnold removed his glasses and tucked them inside the inner pocket of his jacket. He collected the various documents scattered about the desk, organizing them into a nice, orderly stack. With a flip of his wrist, he loaded them into a leather briefcase and turned toward the door.

"Audrey." He stopped sharply, surprised to see her.

"Hello Arnold. Sorry I kept you waiting." She stepped quietly into the library, closing the door behind her.

"Oh that's alright, my dear." He smiled warmly.

"I see everyone's gone."

"Yes. Everything went quite smoothly."

"That's good news." Audrey mustered half a smile.

"Listen, Audrey, it's been a very long day. A very long week for that matter. Why don't we discuss business later? How does Monday morning sound? My office at nine?"

"It's okay, Arnold. Let's just get it over with, shall we?"

"But you're exhausted. And frankly, I'm a bit tired myself."

"How about a drink?" Audrey crossed the room, stopping at a small bar cart in front of the window.

"Are you sure?"

"Absolutely. Scotch?" She asked.

"If you've got it."

"Grantleigh has an entire cellar full of fine wines and distilled spirits. Of course none of them belong to me anymore."

"All the more reason to drink up." Arnold winked.

Audrey poured the drinks while Mr. Plunkett rifled through his briefcase. In seconds, they were seated side by side-a mass of papers scattered on the table in front of them.

"It's better than we anticipated and more than we needed." Arnold tapped his glass against hers.

"What was the final figure?"

"Just under a million and a half pounds."

"The banks will be happy."

"And the singular bank account of one Audrey fforbes-Hamilton will have a few pence as well." He pushed a document across the table in her direction. "Now this is just a preliminary. Nothing official until funding."

Audrey examined the paper, shaking her head. "What is this?"

"What does it say?"

Audrey scanned the words on the page. "It appears to be some type of real estate document overwrought with technical jargon. _Section two, plot fifteen_..." She continued to read silently then looked up at Arnold with an expression of complete confusion. "It might as well be written in Chinese, Arnold. I only speak the Queen's English." She handed the document back to him.

"It's your new residence. Or it can be, if you still want it."

"What residence?"

"Your _dream home_ , as it were." Arnold laughed and lifted his glass.

"I'm sorry but I don't understand."

"The lodge house, Audrey. Section two, plot fifteen. That darling little parcel of land that will be your home sweet home."

"But that was sold. Today. With the manor. Or have you already been in the Scotch?"

"True. It was sold. But I spoke with DeVere immediately after the auction ended. I explained your _situation_ to him-your interest in staying in Marlbury and your family history with Grantleigh. Well, I must say he was most accommodating. Didn't so much as bat an eye. Even asked that I extend a personal invitation to you on his behalf. Said you're welcomed to stay here in the manor for as long as you like.

"But the lodge?" Audrey stood and walked to the wall of window. She stared out across the vast expanse of the estate, eyeing the small cottage in the distance.

"It was your idea, not mine."

"I mentioned the lodge to you the other night because I thought the concept was comical."

"It's a wonderful idea. One I wish I'd thought of. And the price is right. But if you'd rather let Anderson find you a nice flat in the city..." He teased.

"I wouldn't let Anderson call me a cab." She responded with an eye roll.

"Of course you'll have to cut back quite a lot, but after settling your affairs with the creditors, you should have enough to pay DeVere in full and have a small nest egg left over."

"How small?" She asked.

"Hummingbird size." Arnold winked again.

 **Thanks so much for reading!**


	7. Chapter 7

"I'm sorry to disturb you, Madam, but the post was just delivered. And there's a package for you." Brabinger stood in the doorway of the formal dining room.

"Just a moment." Audrey continued wrapping a piece of Majolica pottery with several sheets of parchment. When satisfied, she placed the treasure carefully in a box simply marked _'lodge house'_.

"I could leave it in the library if you prefer." He suggested.

"No, I'll take it now. Just give me a moment. " She inventoried the room with an overwhelmed stare, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear as she maneuvered her way through a maze of boxes and packing supplies. The days following the sale of the manor had kept Audrey busy-so much so that she hadn't had time to really process what was happening. There was simply too much to do. The task of boxing up her life was daunting, but she was secretly thankful for the work. The sale of the lodge house was only a day away from being finalized, though Mr. DeVere had graciously allowed her to begin moving in her personal affects and furnishings. Arnold had drawn up a clever lease agreement, being a stickler for contracts along with his insatiable need to be _by the book_. Audrey leased the property from the new owner for a mere pound a day. It was a silly agreement, but one of legal necessity. Mr. DeVere had even arranged special transport for final transaction of acquiring the lodge house. She recalled the conversation that she and Mr. Plunkett shared in his office just twenty four hours before...

 _"_ _But I don't even know him. I mean, our relationship, for lack of a better term, exists solely within the confines of legal contracts. Conveyances and the like. The idea is completely ludicrous." Audrey gave a nod of thanks as Arnold's assistant placed a silver tea service on the desk between them._

 _"_ _I can name at least a dozen women in Marlbury and hundreds elsewhere else that would jump at the chance."_

 _"_ _But a helicopter? Really, Arnold. It borders on vulgar." She tossed the telex transmittal on his desk with a disgusted look._

 _"_ _Think of it as a Rolls with wings." Arnold winked, filling his teacup._

 _"_ _It's all a bit dodgy if you ask me. Selling the lodge to me without hesitation. Why? Offering to fly me to London in his private aircraft to finalized the sale of the lodge? Why? I've never even seen the man." Audrey eyed him suspiciously. "Just what exactly have you told him about me?"_

 _"_ _Nothing. Only the truth."_

 _"_ _And what is your version of the truth?"_

 _"_ _That you grew up on the estate; that Grantleigh had been in your family for four hundred years; that you were recently widowed with no children; that your husband, unbeknownst to you, left you with an enormous debt. That's the truth."_

 _"_ _So why is he being so generous and agreeable?"_

 _"_ _Maybe he's genuinely interested in the well-being of others."_

 _"_ _And maybe he likes to play the part. You know, remembering the little people…especially we poor, homeless widows."_

 _"_ _Oh Audrey! You don't truly believe that, do you?" He asked._

 _"_ _I honestly don't know what to believe." She shrugged. "Maybe it's guilt."_

 _"_ _Guilt? Why on earth would he feel guilty and what would it have to do with you?"_

 _"_ _Well, the fact that he's turning my estate into a mockery."_

 _"_ _How? He hasn't even come back to Grantleigh since the auction."_

 _"_ _That's precisely what I'm talking about. Grantleigh is sinking like the bloody Titanic."_

 _"_ _Why? Because you're no longer signing the checks? Now you're just being dramatic." Arnold rolled his eyes._

 _"_ _I don't think you fully comprehend the obligations that befall the owner of an estate such as Grantleigh. There are dozens of items which must must be tended each and every day. And I don't mean hiring some young, inexperienced youth with a fancy degree to pop in every week to 'check the status.'"_

 _"_ _It's none of you concern, Audrey." He gave her a sharp look, speaking with a fatherly tone._

 _"_ _I know, I know…the 'New World Order' and all that. I was present during that sermon, Father."_

 _"_ _Don't forget that Father knows best. I think you should accept the man's generous invitation. If nothing else, it's a chance to ride in a first-rate flying machine. And I promise to treat you to lunch at the exclusive restaurant of your choice when the deal is done. It's win-win."_

 _Audrey reached again for the paper she'd tossed on his desk. She reread Mr. DeVere's message, finding it to be short and clear-and extremely curious._

 _"_ _Can't I just sign the papers and have you deliver them? Alone? Isn't that what I pay you for?" She asked._

 _"What exactly is it that you're afraid of?" Arnold asked._

 _"I'm not afraid." She insisted._

 _"Oh yes you are. You're afraid that you might find out he's the one thing you despise most."_

 _"And what, exactly, might that be?" Audrey raised an eyebrow._

 _"A gentleman being nice."_

 _Audrey looked down at her teacup, trying her best suppress a laugh.. "You know I despise nice, Arnold. Such a loathsome little word." She flashed him a large smile._

Three weeks had lapsed since DeVere purchased Grantleigh at auction, and still Audrey had yet to meet him face to face. Business matters and loose ends prevented him from even setting foot inside the gates of the estate. An assortment of shipments trickled in from London on a daily basis...confirming, by his unique taste in objets d'art, that Marjory's description of the new Lord was completely off base.

In classic Audrey fashion, she convinced Arnold to accept Mr. DeVere's offer of first class travel to London via his personal helicopter-a solo flight while Audrey stayed behind. Her argument was sound-one that Mr. DeVere's absence substantiated. _If he can be MIA, then so can I_ , she reminded Arnold with a stern tone moments before leaving his office. She'd signed the required documents amid a sea of honorable witnesses and would take possession of the lodge house as soon as Arnold returned.

"Why don't I leave these in the library for you, Madam." Brabinger offered once more, breaking the silence that seemed to have Audrey trapped as she looked around the dining hall with a despondent expression.

With a nod, she collected the post from Brabinger and walked briskly to the drawing room. She eyed the clock in the hall with a curious stare. The sun was beginning to set. _Late again_. She looked down at the collection of envelopes in one hand and the small mailer in the other. _I'm now officially off the radar. Even the postmaster's put me last on the list. What used to be stacks of invitations to balls and polo matches, delivered promptly at three, has become a heap of advertisements deposited at sundown._

She flopped down on the only piece of furniture left in her favorite room-a Chintz covered sofa with traditional lines. Very English. Very Audrey. It took less than a minute to whip through the correspondence, where she found not a single invitation. She didn't waste time, however, and reached for the small parcel. The return address label was puzzling: R. DeVere. _Odd? A package from Mr. DeVere._ Double checking the addressee, she confirmed that indeed the package bore her name: Mrs. fforbes-Hamilton. She studied the single initial for a moment, realizing for the first time that she didn't know his first name. And she doubted he knew hers. From the moment he'd taken possession of the estate, he'd been nothing more than _Mr._ DeVere...a man that maintained an air of mystery by his continued absence.

She removed the brown parcel wrap, finding a small white box. Her curiosity was beyond peaked, and she slipped her hand gently under the layers of tissue she found inside. Her fingers rubbed against something smooth, round and cool to the touch.

"Oh my! Isn't that lovely?" She remarked to no one, aside from Bertie who'd slipped in moments before and taken refuge at her feet.

It was lovely. A beautiful paperweight of blown glass in the shape of an acorn. Its color was a combination of shining hues, polished to a high luster-vivid green, autumnal rust and coffee bean brown. The cap of the acorn, Audrey guessed, was some type of precious metal, intricately detailed. It was stunning yet simple, and she marveled at the gesture for several seconds before the thought of a card occurred to her. She checked the box, smiling as she pulled a small envelope free from the tissue.

 _Dear Mrs. fforbes-Hamilton,_

 _I would like to extend my sincerest apologies. I pride myself on being a gracious host, but regrettably my business has prevented me from calling on you since the sale of the manor. I hope that you have been comfortable in your final days and that the arrival of my personal belongings has not hindered your efforts. I've instructed the staff to extend every assistance in your relocation. I trust they have been accommodating._

 _If all goes according to plan, we will be in Marlbury by Sunday. If your schedule allows, please consider dining with us the evening of our arrival. We're anxious to make your acquaintance._

 _Please accept this gift as a gesture of good will among neighbors._

 _"The creation of a thousand forests is in one acorn."_

 _-Ralph Waldo Emerson_

 _Respectfully,_

 _R.T. DeVere_

Audrey silently read the card twice, impressed by several things: his precise penmanship, the inclusion of a thoughtful quote and finally, by the gesture itself. But one thing stood out above the pleasant sentiments and steady hand: the use of the word ' _we_.' Suddenly Audrey felt lightheaded. Her heart began to race as she replayed the afternoon with Marjory at Peregrine's Folly-the afternoon of the auction. They'd discussed the new owner's attire, his supposed riches, his physical attributes, but never had the idea of his having a wife entered the hadn't considered the possibility that _Mr._ DeVere might have a _Mrs_. A new _Lady_ of the Manor.

And while the neatly written words on the card echoed one sentiment, her mind heard only the words of her dearest childhood friend…

 _"_ _I don't think he's the type of man that women can hate."_

After several minutes, she placed the glass ornament gently back inside the box. Exhaling noisily, she rubbed her fingers across tired eyes, leaning her head against the back cushions of the sofa. _They were both right_ , she considered. _Arnold and Marjory. He's probably a genuinely nice man that I will be unable to hate._

Another minute passed before Audrey stood and crossed the room to the telephone, sitting all alone on the floor where a desk once sat. She quickly dialed the number...and Marjory answered on the second ring.

"Was he wearing a ring?" She demanded.

"Oh, hello Audrey."

"A ring? Was he or wasn't he wearing one?"

"Who?"

"Mr. DeVere?"

Marjory thought for a moment. "A wedding ring?"

"Yes."

"I honestly don't know."

"You mean you forgot to look?" Audrey asked with exasperation.

"The whole auction was over in a matter of minutes, Aud. And I was hiding quietly in the back. I never got that close to him. Why?"

"Well, I just received the most charming note from him, inviting me to join _them_ for dinner. At the manor. Sunday evening."

"Then I guess you've answered your own question then, haven't you?"

"Yes, I suppose I have." Audrey glanced down at the card once more.

"Is there a problem?" Marjory asked after a lengthy pause.

"Of course not. Why should there be a problem?"

"If it bothers you that much, then don't go. Send a note with your apologies and be done."

"If what bothers me?"

"Well let's see. Sitting at _your_ table, in _your_ dining room, in _your_ house, being served dinner by _your_ staff and being merely a guest. No, I guess that wouldn't bother you in the least."

Audrey didn't make a comment, as she quietly reread Mr. DeVere's card for a third time. Marjory remained silent, unsure if she'd once again crossed that imaginary line.

"Your attempts at sarcasm are quite impressive." Audrey replied with a grin.

"I studied under a Master teacher." Marjory quipped.

 **Now would be a great time for a review! Thanks for reading!**


	8. Chapter 8

Audrey took several steps away from the full length mirror, examining herself on all sides. The tiny bedroom at the top of the stairs in the lodge house was littered with an assortment of skirts, blouses and dresses. Her new Master suite was the exact size of her former dressing area in the manor and now, in essence, her bedroom and closet were one in the same. She'd spent a full half hour in front of that mirror, trying desperately to find the perfect look for dinner with her new neighbors. After exhausting every possibility, she decided on a floor length silk gown in a soft, muted green. It was last year's cut but still very much in style. The design was tasteful and conservative and she hoped her choice would be appropriate one. In truth, she knew her wardrobe was the least of her concern. It didn't matter what she selected. The lack of rest was engraved on her face and no fancy frock could hide that fact. She'd spent just a couple of nights in her new residence but had managed only a few hours of sleep. The sounds were different. The comforting creaks of the manor were missing. Even Bertie stayed awake most of the night, patrolling the small house. Brabinger, however, had found great comfort in his promotion to the upper floor. His bedroom was now located across from Audrey's and as evidence with his thunderous snoring, she knew that the adjustment to his new living quarters had been complete in a matter of seconds. This thought made Audrey smile and with a final adjustment to her hair, she turned to make her way downstairs.

Carefully taking the steep wooden stairs, she secured a diamond watch on her wrist. A gift from Marton-one she was certain his secretary has selected, though the lack of sentimentality didn't seem to bother her in the least. The antique clock in the small entryway sounded and as it did, she synchronized her timepiece with the chimes. _Eight o'clock on the dot._

Normally, Audrey abhorred late dinners. She knew it was typically English, but it was one of the few traditions that she never bought into. And since she and her late husband rarely dinned together, she'd come to prefer light fare for one, typically delivered by Brabinger on a tray in the Drawing room between six-thirty and seven. Dinner at eight, she knew with complete certainty, meant drinks and meaningless conversation at 8:30 and dinner well after nine. Again she checked her reflection in the face of the clock as she pulled her coat around her shoulders.

"Don't you look stunning, Madam." Brabinger smiled enthusiastically from behind the kitchen door.

"Thank you very much." Audrey nodded.

"Will Mr. DeVere be sending a car?"

"Heaven's no. I doubt he's that provincial." She pulled a pair of gloves from her handbag.

"You aren't planning to walk, are you?" Brabinger inquired with a look of concern.

"No. I'm taking the Rolls."

"Oh thank goodness." He sighed. "Let me get my coat."

"You don't have to go, Brabinger. I can drive myself."

"But Madam..." He paused. "It's your first time to join them."

"And I'm perfectly capable of delivering myself there in one piece. They didn't send a map, but I think I can find my way." She teased.

"Oh I don't doubt that, Madam. It's just that..." He paused again, wringing his hands nervously on the hem of his starched white apron.

"It's just that what?" She asked.

"Well, a lady such as yourself should have an escort."

"Oh Brabinger! That's very sweet of you. But I think I can manage."

"But what would your father say, Madam?"

Audrey glanced at her watch, noting that if she didn't move quickly she'd be much more than fashionably late. "He'd tell me to make sure and drink their good stuff first." She replied with a wink.

Outside, the cool air on her face forced her to breathe deeply, and once behind the wheel of her father's cherished automobile, she tried to collect herself. To say she wasn't nervous would be a lie. She could see the lights of the manor in the distance. In minutes she would be face to face with the new Lord and could finally size him up first hand. He _and_ his Missus. Her eyes focused on the bottle of champagne on the seat beside her. It wasn't as personal or expensive as the lovely paperweight that Mr. DeVere had sent, but she hoped the gesture would be well received.

She followed the narrow dirt lane from the cottage to her childhood home. It was a journey she knew she could make with her eyes closed. Mentally, she conjured up a list of safe yet engaging dinner topics: art, music, polo, and the like. _Stick to the basics, be complimentary, and I'm back home by ten-thirty_ , she told herself as the Rolls rolled up the long stately drive. Grantleigh looked exquisite at any time of day, but in the evening with the gas lamps burning along the tree lined drive, it was nothing less than breathtaking. She'd marveled at it's grandeur as a child. And now as a grown woman, she was still no less amazed.

She slowed the car to a crawl as she approached the main doors. A shadow in the distance moved swiftly in her direction and in seconds she was met by an unfamiliar face-a short, stout man of about fifty. He nodded politely as she placed the car in park then offered his hand and helped her out.

"Good Evening, Ma'am. Welcome to Grantleigh." He spoke with a raspy tone.

"Good Evening." She replied, taking the champagne bottle in one hand and her small evening bag in the other.

"This way..." The gentleman gestured politely.

Reluctantly, Audrey tucked her handbag under her arm and followed the stranger in silence. When they arrived at the front doors, they were met by an elderly woman with an enormous smile.

"You must be Mrs. fforbes-Hamilton. Welcome, welcome." She spoke with a heavy accent that was anything but British.

"Good Evening." Audrey forced a smile as she studied the woman standing before her. This was not the Mrs. DeVere she'd pictured in her mind. Not even close. It was then that Audrey realized in addition to excluding his wedding ring, Marjory had failed to mention that Mr. DeVere was beyond the prime of his life and likely pushing seventy. Mrs. DeVere was nothing like man that Marjory described. She noted the plain, inexpensive dress; the homely sweater draped around her shoulders; the thick soled, sensible shoes. Nothing about her said money or class or status. And the accent confirmed the one thing she'd feared most. Her precious estate was now in the hands of foreigners.

"Please come in. We've been looking forward to meeting you for such a long time." The woman's smile was genuine as she ushered Audrey inside the grand foyer.

"The feeling is quite mutual, I assure you." Audrey stepped inside the manor, trying to stay focused on the unlikely hostess and not on the change in decor that surrounded her.

"I'm so happy that you agreed to come. I was getting a little worried that perhaps you'd changed your mind."

"Oh yes, I do apologize for being late. The lodge house is still in a substantial degree of disarray. Locating things like shoes and earrings has proven to be somewhat challenging." She smiled as she removed her coat and placed it into the new butler's waiting arms.

"Well you look absolutely beautiful, Mrs. fforbes-Hamilton."

"Please, call me Audrey. I insist we not be so formal. We are neighbors after all." She smiled again, holding out the champagne to the new Lady of the manor.

"Thank you so very much." She took the bottle and examined the label. "And I insist that you call me Maria."

"Of course." Audrey nodded.

"Would you like to start with drinks in the library, Madam?" The gentleman asked.

"Which one is the library?" The elderly woman asked with a confused look.

"It's this way, Madam..." He responded with a slight bow, leading the way down a long corridor. Audrey was both impressed and saddened to see someone besides Brabinger operating inside the manor with such marked efficiency, as if he'd been a fixture at Grantleigh for generations.

"I need a map to find my way around." She joked, slipping her arm inside Audrey's as they followed closely behind.

"It won't take you long, I promise." Audrey shared a friendly pat on the woman's hand.

The library, Audrey found, looked surprisingly the same. The shelves that had been emptied days before were now overflowing with hundreds of books. The furnishings were masculine, but very sophisticated-leather and hardwoods and beautiful Persian rugs. Dog and duck prints lined the walls and Audrey found herself smiling again. Memories of her father, smoking cigars and reading the newspaper in that very room came to mind. It was a gentleman's room, which lead her to only one conclusion. _He must indeed be a gentleman._

"What a beautifully appointed library. You have excellent taste." Audrey commented as she circled the room, examining several book titles.

"I wish I could say that I designed it, but I have no talent for such things. It's all Bedriche's doing. He has a real eye."

"Bedriche?" Audrey inquired, taking a seat on a large leather wing chair opposite her hostess.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I mean Mr. DeVere."

"Ah, I see." Audrey nodded.

"Would you like your usual, Mrs. fforbes-Hamilton?" The butler asked.

"My usual?" She was taken aback by his question.

"Yes, Ma'am. A Scotch and soda?" He responded with confidence.

"That will be fine." She answered, intrigued by the man's knowledge of her preferred cocktail.

"And for you, Madam?" He asked the Lady of the manor.

"Just a small glass of wine."

The drinks were poured and distributed as Audrey continued to absorb the changes in the room. The butler excused himself though she didn't notice. She was quiet for several moments before turning her attentions back to her hostess.

"Your accent is delightful. Poland?" Audrey asked.

"You are close. Czechoslovakia."

"When did you move to England?"

"A long time ago. Long before you were born."

"Well, your accent is charming."

"Thank you." She answered with a smile.

A pregnant pause hung between them for a minute; Audrey swirling her ice cubes around her glass.

"I guess it's strange to return to the manor." The elderly woman changed the subject.

"It's not as odd as I anticipated."

"Mr. DeVere tells me that you grew up here."

"Indeed. Until two days ago, I've never lived anywhere else."

"It's a beautiful estate. I know you must be very proud of it."

"I am. There's a lot of history here. The fforbes-Hamiltons have hosted everyone from Rudyard Kipling to Winston Churchill to The Beatles. Well, not every Beatle...just Ringo."

"So I take it your family owned Grantleigh for a long time?"

"Over four hundred years. We've been the cornerstone of farming in Marlbury for almost a half century. The estate employs almost one quarter of the entire workforce in the area. Not on a daily basis, mind you. But there's always work to be done at Grantleigh. The estate is a full time job. We're not just about history...there's an enormous responsibility." Audrey hoped that her little soap box speech would make an understated impact on the new owner.

"Well, I want you to know that our home is always open to you and your family." The woman shared a warm smile.

"That's very kind of you. Thank you." Audrey lifted her glass, unsure if her words fell on deaf ears.

The two women sat nursing drinks and enjoying each other company until an ornately carved mantle clock chimed. Nine o'clock and still no sigh of the Lord. Audrey double checked her watch, slightly annoyed that the host had yet to make an appearance. Surely dinner would be served soon, and they hadn't been formally introduced-a situation that might prove to be somewhat uncomfortable. But hopefully Mr. DeVere would be as relaxed and charming as his wife. Though Audrey's time in the library had been more than pleasant, she was eager to wrap up the evening. She glanced nervously around the room, wondering when he'd make his entrance.

"I'm afraid that I find myself in a slightly embarrassing situation this evening and I must extend you an apology." The hostess offered, sensing a slight anxiety in her guest.

"Really? Why is that?" Audrey asked.

"I'm afraid that Mr. DeVere won't be joining us."

"Oh I'm so sorry to hear that. He's not taken ill, I hope."

"Oh no. Nothing like that. An unexpected problem forced him to fly back to London this afternoon."

"That is disappointing." Audrey sighed.

"He was so looking forward to meeting you and spending time with you this evening."

"Likewise. But there's plenty of time for all that. We are neighbors."

"I appreciate your understanding."

"Certainly."

"He's had the most difficult time obtaining the proper equipment. That's why he had to return. Quite a mix-up."

"Equipment?"

"Yes. Farm equipment. Tractors. Hoe-backs. You know...for the estate."

"You mean Back-hoes?"

"Yes, yes." She laughed.

"But there are several implements that were sold with the estate. Perhaps he's not aware of them."

"I think he wants something a little more...how do you say...modern?"

"Has some big projects planned, does he?" Audrey tried to picture an aging Mr. DeVere making the jump from the board room to the pasture...spending his retirement on the back of a tractor. _Why do people operate under the assumption that fancy farm equipment automatically turns them into farmers?_ She wondered, sipping her highball with smile. _City boys_ _and their toys..._

"He always has big plans. I keep telling him to slow down, but he refuses. It worries me that he works so hard, but what can I do?"

"Well, some men have a hard time with retirement. Especially those that are as successful as Mr. DeVere."

"Retirement? Oh he's not retiring." The elderly woman shook her head definitively.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I just assumed..." Audrey could feel the color on her cheeks.

"As long as the human race plans to eat, then Bedriche will always have a reason to work from sun up to sundown."

"So he's really going to make a go of this farm, is he? Turnips and carrots and the lot?"

"No, Dear. I'm talking about his company. Cavendish Foods."

"Cavendish Foods?" Audrey thought for a moment. "You mean the supermarket chain?"

"Yes. He started Cavendish Foods. He is Cavendish Foods."

"Mr. DeVere is the head of Cavendish Foods?" Audrey tried to contain the shock in her voice.

"Yes." The woman answered with pride.

Audrey took another sip of her drink. It was the most polite thing she could do. Never would she have guessed that she'd be sitting across from the wife of the man that was responsible for single-handedly destroying the welfare of the simple country farmer. Cavendish Foods was a giant across the UK...stores on every city block. And from the day they'd opened their doors, farmers across England found themselves in the middle of a bitter battle. The competition to sell at rock bottom prices had pitted farmer against farmer, destroying a piece of England's heritage while the old boys at Cavendish had grown rich. So rich, in fact, that the CEO would be counting his millions in the very room where Audrey now sat.

"Are you feeling okay, Dear? You suddenly look very pale."

"To be honest, I am feeling rather dizzy." She placed her glass on the table in front of her and stood.

"Let me get you some water."

"No, I'll be fine." Audrey held on to the back of the chair to steady herself.

"An aspirin then? Let me bring you an aspirin and some water, Dear." She stood and approached Audrey, rubbing her hand gently across her shoulder with loving support.

"No, no. But thank you." She looked at the woman and noted the genuine caring in her eyes.

"Maybe you need to eat something. I'll call Bennett and-"

"Listen, Maria...I'm sorry, but would you mind terribly if we did this another evening?"

"Of course not, Dear."

"I do appreciate your understanding. I feel awful for cancelling, but I'm not quite feeling myself." Audrey set her sites on the door, moving as quickly as her body would allow. Her head was pounding and all she could think about was getting in the Rolls and driving straight back to the lodge...and to the phone that sat waiting inside the Drawing room.

"I'll have Bennett drive you home."

"No, that won't be necessary. I can make it."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, I'm sure."

"Will you promise to call me as soon as you get to the lodge? So that I know you made it safely?"

"Certainly." Audrey paused at the front door, once again noting the friendly concern on the woman's face.

"As soon as you are feeling better, then we can have a enjoyable evening together. With Mr. DeVere."

"Thank you." She nodded as Bennett opened the door. Again he offered his arm, but this time Audrey refused. She walked briskly to her car and in less than sixty seconds was inside the Rolls with the manor disappearing as she drove away. From the lane she spied only one light burning inside the cottage, illuminating Brabinger's bedroom. She eyed the house and the garage, but only as she drove past, pressing the accelerator to the floor. The anger inside her grew, and she didn't slow down until the lights of the Plunkett home loomed in the distance.

 **Enjoying the story? Leave me a line or two!**


	9. Chapter 9

"Well aren't we the picture of relaxing in the country?"

"Bedriche? You're home? I didn't even hear the helicopter." She looked up at her son in surprise.

"Good afternoon." He carried his coffee cup into the courtyard where his mother sat quietly knitting. He bent down, depositing a light kiss on her forehead before positioning himself on the end of her chaise. "I didn't fly back. It was late but I didn't want to spend the night. I sent Rory home and drove back instead. Borrowed Atherton's car."

"Rory?" She asked.

"The helicopter pilot."

"Ah, yes. I keep forgetting his name." She smiled at her son. "Did you get your affairs in order?"

"I think so. Deliveries should be made by week's end. How was dinner? I hope you extended my sincerest apologies."

"We didn't have dinner."

"You cancelled? But Mother we-"

"I didn't cancel. Mrs. fforbes-Hamilton arrived just after eight, we had drinks in the library just as planned but she started feeling ill and left around nine-thirty. We never made it to the dining room."

"Ill? Is she alright?" He asked.

"I don't know. I asked her to ring once she returned to the lodge but I never heard from her."

"Have you tried to contact her today?"

"No. I didn't want to disturb her. I thought it better to let her rest."

"Yes, you're probably right." He turned his eyes toward the lodge house.

"We did have a lovely time though. She's a delightful woman. Very intelligent. She knows all about art and music and antiques. And she's very attractive as well." The elderly woman smiled slyly at her son.

"Well I'm thrilled you made a new friend. I know how hard it was for you to leave your dears behind in London."

"She could be _your_ friend as well." The woman hinted with a wink which made her son laugh.

"Now Mother, I know that my choice in recent companions has not met with your approval, but tipping the scale in the other direction is hardly fair and not at all funny."

"What scale? I'm not making a joke, Bedriche. She's a bright, attractive girl."

"Girl?" He laughed heartily. "I already have a bossy, controlling older woman in my life. I don't need another one. For recreational purposes I'll stick with the younger set, thank you very much."

"Older woman? But who are you talking about?" Her face held a confused look.

"Mrs. fforbes-Hamilton."

"She's not old." His mother shook her head with disgust.

"Okay, okay...I apologize if you think I insulted you. But let's be realistic." He sighed heavily. "Your attempts at playing matchmaker for me have failed time and again. And now you're just grasping at straws. Can you imagine the whispers that would resonate through London society if Richard DeVere stepped out with a woman of her age?"

"Why? Because she's not twenty?"

"No. Because she's _over_ sixty."

"She's not sixty."

"She's seventy then? Oh that's rich, Mother." He rolled his eyes.

"I doubt she's even fifty."

"Mrs. fforbes-Hamilton? The elderly widow who used to reside in this manor?"

"Yes."

"Mrs. fforbes-Hamilton is in her forties?"

"Very early forties, if I had to venture a guess. What made you think she was my age?"

"I don't know. I guess I just assumed that _recently widowed_ and _no children_ meant that she was much older."

"Well old she is not." She responded firmly. "And I could tell that she was very impressed that you were the head of Cavendish Foods too. She was speechless."

"Oh good Lord, woman! Why must you continually toot my horn?"

"Because I am your mother. That's my job." She smiled proudly, patting her son's cheek.

"Did she say anything about the gift I sent?" He asked after a moment of silence.

"She left a note for you along with a bottle of champagne."

"Champagne?"

"Yes. And it looks very expensive."

"Did you remember to give her the post that arrived for her Saturday?"

"Oh my goodness! I completely forgot."

"That's alright. I can have Bennett drop it off later."

"Why don't you take it? You can apologize in person for your absence. Take her some flowers-something to cheer her up."

"Mother...you're doing it again."

"What? The woman was a guest in our home last night. She fell ill and had to leave. The least you can do is check in on her. She probably won't see you anyway, but show her you are courteous enough to call."

"Play the good neighbor card, is that it?" He looked at his mother with equal parts devotion and prudence.

"Play whatever card you like, as long as it gets me one step closer to being a grandmother." She winked again.

* * *

"Good afternoon. Is the lady of the house at home?" The dark-haired gentleman asked.

"Whom may I say is calling?" Brabinger inquired.

"I'm DeVere. From the manor." He extended his hand with a smile.

"Nice to meet you, Sir. Won't you come in?"

The gentleman stepped inside the tiny foyer of the lodge. Brabinger softly closed the door behind him, noticing a bouquet of flowers in his grasp.

"If you'll wait here, Sir." Brabinger remarked with a slight bow.

Inside the small drawing room, Audrey sat curled up in her favorite chair reading the newspaper. Still in her robe, Brabinger knew she wouldn't be accepting visitors. She'd said little upon her return from dinner at the manor the night before...and this worried him greatly.

"So sorry to disturb you but you have a guest, Madam."

"Oh Brabinger, you don't have to announce Marjory." Audrey answered, not bothering to look up from the paper. "Just send her in."

"It's not Marjory, Madam."

"Then who is it?" She asked.

"Mr. DeVere."

Audrey's eyes shot toward her faithful butler. "DeVere is here? Now?" She pulled her robe tightly around her.

"Yes. In the foyer." Brabinger nodded.

"Well I'm definitely in no condition to meet him today. Please tell him that I'm ill and not accepting visitors at the moment. Be firm yet apologetic."

"Certainly. Will that be all, Madam?"

"Yes I think so." Quickly she folded the newspaper and dropped it on the floor beside Bertie. She moved swiftly toward the windows where she waited quietly to peek at her new neighbor. Suddenly her palms felt sweaty as she prepared herself to see the man that now called Grantleigh home. Running her fingers lightly along the edge of the drapery, she peered out cautiously. She heard the slam of a car door, along with the roar of a motor, and seconds later she saw the blur of an automobile on the narrow lane in front of the lodge. _So much for spying_.

"He's gone now, Madam." Brabinger poked his head back inside the drawing room.

"Yes, I see." She readjusted the drapery panel and returned to her chair.

"He left some flowers for you. And a card. Would you like me to bring them in?"

"That will be fine." She sighed and reached down, giving Bertie a tender pat on the head before collecting the newspaper once more.

"Is Madam alright? Shall I bring you some aspirin perhaps?"

"No Brabinger, I'll survive."

"If you'll permit me to ask, did something unpleasant occur over dinner last night?"

"We didn't have dinner. Mr. DeVere was called to London at the last minute. I spent time with his wife then drove over to Arnold's."

"Oh I see." Brabinger was slightly puzzled. "But I was under the impression that the Plunkett's were away."

"That's correct. I unfortunately realized that only too late. I came home and quietly let myself in the back. I didn't want to wake you."

"Well I'm sorry that your evening didn't meet your expectations, Madam."

"On the contrary...it was a very enlightening experience." She remarked with a sarcastic tone.

Brabinger excused himself and closed the door. Audrey tried to refocus her attentions on the news of the day, but an unusual anxiety gripped her from inside. She returned to the window and looked out across the vast estate. In the distance she could see it rising above the horizon-her beloved Grantleigh. It was her lifeblood; the definition of her existence. Babies had taken their first breaths there and old men had reluctantly gasped their final ones there as well. Generations had fought for the betterment of society inside her walls. She'd scavenged for Easter eggs along the manicured grounds. She'd lost her virginity inside the third stall of the main paddock. She'd watched in silence as the family physician administered to her ailing parents. And now, she would watch from a distance as a stranger with a vastly different agenda conducted manor business. She'd asked herself the question the night before as she lay wide awake inside her tiny bedroom at the top of the stairs. And now, looking at Grantleigh in the late afternoon sun, she asked herself once more.

 _Is it time to give up the fight?_

She knew with absolute certainty that Arnold would strongly encourage her to raise the white flag. He'd done so from the moment the gavel fell at auction. _Be thankful that you have a home, your health, and a small bit of savings_...he'd told her. Sound advice, she considered, but that was before she knew the true nature of her new neighbor.

"These should lift your spirits a bit." Brabinger entered, carrying a crystal vase full of fresh cut flowers which he placed in the center of the coffee table.

"Aren't they lovely!" Audrey commented, turning away from the window. "And you've arranged them beautifully."

"Thank you Madam." Brabinger smiled. "Here's the card." He slipped a small white envelope into her hand. "And your post was delivered to the manor by mistake on Saturday." He pulled a small bundle of mail from his coat pocket, placing the stack neatly beside the floral arrangement. "I'll ring the post office and let them know that you're now residing here at the lodge."

"Thank you, Brabinger. You're a dear." She shared a genuine smile then settled herself back in her chair.

"Dinner in an hour, Madam. Would you like a tray this evening?"

"Yes. And bring one for yourself. We can watch the telly." She instructed as she opened the small envelope and read the message silently.

 _Wishing you a speedy recovery._

 _Regards,_

 _R.T.D._

She dropped the card with little thought on the table beside the flowers, unmoved by his attempt at neighborly kindness, and reached for the mail. All bills and advertisements, she found after a moment's examination...until she discovered a large crisp envelope at the bottom of the stack. Her name was magnificently scripted across the front in calligraphy. She flipped it over, revealing a wax seal closure. The mark was one she didn't recognize which further peaked her curiosity. Carefully breaking the seal, she removed a printed invitation from the gold-lined envelope. She studied it for a moment, then called for Brabinger.

"Yes?" He again poked his head inside the drawing room.

"I need you to arrange a train ticket for me." She instructed.

"Yes, Madam. When will you be departing and to where?"

"London. This Friday. I'd like to leave in the morning, but not too early. And could you make reservations for me at that little boutique hotel near Hyde Park? You know, the one where Marton loved to rendezvous with his flavor of the month."

"I assure you, Madam, that I have no knowledge of Mr. fforbes-Hamilton's extra-curricular activities."

"Well, it's in my address book. You'll find it."

"And when will you return?"

"Saturday evening."

"Just one night, then?"

"Yes."

"Is everything alright, Madam?"

"I don't know, but I shall soon find out." She fanned herself with the oversized card.

"Very good. I'll see to everything." He nodded then closed the door.

Audrey wasted no time, crossing the room and dialing Marjory's number. It rang several times before an out-of-breath Ms. Frobisher answered.

"Hello?"

"You'll never guess where I'm going this Friday night."

"Hold on." She placed the phone down for several seconds, leaving Audrey waiting impatiently on the other end. "Sorry about that. Now what is it? You're going somewhere Friday?"

"I just received the most curious invitation to an event at the Savoy Hotel."

"The Savoy? For whom?"

"Grevel Hartley."

"Grevel Hartley?" Marjory paused for a moment. "You mean your Uncle Grevel?"

"The very one."

"Really? How interesting. I didn't realize you were close."

"We're not. I haven't seen him since I was just a girl of about seven or eight. He brought me a doll on my birthday. He had a fight with my father and that was the last time I saw him. My parents never spoke of him."

"What sort of event is it?"

"It's a black tie dinner in his honor. Evidently he's being presented some type of award." She reread the card to herself.

"And he invited you? How odd."

"I honestly don't know what he's up to, but if he lives up to his legend, then I'm sure it's no good."

"Are you sure you want to go?"

"And miss out on the chance to be face to face with the proverbial black sheep? Not on your life."

 **A trip to London? Hmmm...**


	10. Chapter 10

As she gazed around the stylish lobby, one thought came to mind: the hotel was even more charming than she remembered. Checking her watch, she had plenty of time to peruse the shops in the Knightsbridge district and make her afternoon appointment before dressing for the evening's main event. Brabinger had arranged a limousine to collect her promptly at eight and depending on traffic, she would make her entrance to the main ballroom at The Savoy at the height of the cocktail hour.

She followed the bell captain to the lift that carried her to a small suite on the third floor. It was well beyond what she could afford, but she hadn't seen her estranged uncle in over three decades. Presentation, as Audrey knew, was absolutely everything. She might not have another opportunity to rub elbows with London's elite...and thus she had to wrap herself up as the right package for the occasion. She'd checked the figures of her bank book carefully during the week, opting finally to throw caution to the wind and go all out. Staying at a hotel she couldn't afford. Shopping in stores she couldn't afford. Obtaining chauffeur service she couldn't afford. _Cinderella_ , she decided, _will have one final turn at the ball_.

Once inside her room, she tipped the assistant generously and proceeded to the window to examine her view. It was nothing short of spectacular with the city literally at her feet. She quickly unpacked, hanging her floor length silky blue gown in the bathroom where she turned the shower to it's hottest setting. _A good steam job is all she needs._ She inspected the intricate beading on the bodice, confident that she could compete with the best of London society. Several minutes were spent arranging everything she needed for the soiree: hosiery, undergarments, make-up, and of course the most elegant jewels she owned. When satisfied, Audrey inspected her work for a moment before grabbing her handbag and returning to the lift.

The day outside was typically English-gray and overcast. It was now close to four o'clock and as any proper English lady knew, the perfect time for tea. After several blocks of window shopping, she waved down a taxi which carried her the remaining distance to the famed tea room at Harrods. She didn't want to be too early. Early said impatient. Nor did she wish to be too late. Late said irresponsible. She paid her cab fare and quickly entered the whimsically appointed patisserie.

"Hartley." She responded flatly to the hostess.

"Right this way." She answered with a smile.

Audrey followed the attractive woman to the intimate dining area. The room was full, but she eyed her uncle instantly. With a large toothy grin and a welcoming wave, he motioned to her. She couldn't help but smile back; all the girlish laughter that erupted upon sight of her witty, clever uncle filled her just as it had in her young years. He stood, extending his arms out to her as she approached the table. After a warm embrace, he pulled away, examining her fully.

"My goodness, Lou. You look stunning."

"Actually I call this my 'eye-catching' look. You know, for daytime. I'm saving 'stunning' for later this evening." She winked. "And it's Audrey, now. I'm all grown up."

"You certainly are. I only called you Lou to annoy your mother." He pulled out her chair in gentlemanly fashion before taking his seat across from her.

"You haven't changed a bit, Uncle Grevel."

"Sure I have. Less hair, more ex-wives." He joked.

"Same sense of humor too."

"If you can't laugh, then it's hardly worth the trouble." He winked back. "Now then, I hear the tea in this place is satisfactory. 'Course I've got my flask just in case it needs a bit of sprucing up." He patted his coat pocket with smile.

Time melted away in a matter of seconds as Audrey and Grevel condensed thirty years of estrangement into ninety minutes of laughter, scones, and Earl Gray. It was the first time in years that Audrey felt alive and loved and special. Grevel shared not only the successes in his life, but the failures as well. Four ex-wives on the payroll and a fifth in the wings. All young, all beautiful, and all after one thing. Audrey confided to him about her trouble marriage, Marton's infidelities and gambling, and the eventual loss of the manor.

"Oh Lou, if only I'd known." He reached across the table and held her hand with fatherly affection. "Thirty years worth of missed birthdays and Christmases would surely equal the cost of one country estate."

"I appreciate the sentiment, Uncle, really I do. But the manor needed to remain in the family name."

"Pounds are pounds, Darling. I hardly think Grantleigh would know the difference."

"She'd know." Audrey smiled.

"Good ol' Lou...a fforbes-Hamilton to the bitter end. Your father would be so proud."

"I doubt it, considering the man that's now signing the checks."

"Is that so? And just who is the new owner?"

"Some foreigner named DeVere. Czechoslovakian I believe."

"DeVere? That wouldn't be the Cavendish Foods DeVere now would it?"

"It most certainly is. Don't tell me you know him?"

"I know who he is, but I don't _know_ him. Not personally. We've been introduced on one or two occasions. Balls and galas and the like. Seems like a pleasant fellow."

"Pleasant is not the word that I'd use to describe him."

"You two aren't feuding?" Grevel knew his niece's loyalty to God and country and that the current owner of her childhood home was in direct opposition of the traditions she stood for.

"No, but the thought has crossed my mind. To be honest, I've never even met the man. I was supposed to have dinner with he and his wife last Sunday, but he was called away. I did have a drink with his wife though. She was very pleasant."

"His wife?" Grevel looked baffled.

"Yes. His wife. Maria. Do you know her?"

"But I thought DeVere was a widower. That's the last I heard anyway."

"Well he must've quietly remarried because the woman I met is very much alive. Though I must admit she's not at all what I expected to be on the arm of a high powered executive..." She confided.

"You know what they say? Wealthy men are fools." Grevel raised his teacup with nod.

"Foolish...but delightful." Audrey smirked.

* * *

The ballroom was alive with style and sophistication. Handsome gentlemen in tuxedos, and the woman that adored them in their designer finery. As planned, Audrey was delivered by limousine to The Savoy where she made her entrance at exactly eight-thirty. She stood at the top of the large marble staircase, scanning the crowd for a glimpse of her uncle. After a minute or two she gave up; unable to distinguish the elderly graying gentleman in the sea of dark suits. With a deep breath, she donned her most confident smile and made her way to the bar. She ordered a glass of champagne, still moving her gaze around the room in search of Grevel. Just as she thought she'd caught sight of him, she felt a hand on her shoulder.

"You weren't kidding, Lou. You are absolutely stunning." Grevel placed a kiss on her cheek.

"Thank you very much, kind sir. And you look very smart this evening. What a splendid party."

"It's a little much if you ask me. I've never been one for these events."

"Well, just remember to drink the good stuff first."

"You are your father's daughter, aren't you?" He offered Audrey his arm. "I'd love to introduce you to some of my business associates."

"That would be lovely."

"As well as ironic."

"How so?" Audrey asked.

"It'll be the first time that I introduce a beautiful young woman as my niece who just happens to be _my niece_." He winked.

Audrey accompanied her uncle, making the obligatory rounds through the crowd. What Grevel had described earlier as a 'small gathering of contemporaries' was an first class celebration of around three hundred of London's power brokers. By the time dinner was served, Audrey found she was completely out of gas. She sat quietly on her uncle's right, offering little in the way of conversation. Nods and smiles she readily shared, but her feet were beginning to ache and she was ready for the evening to wind down. Grevel's new lady, a young French model, sat quietly on his left picking at her plate-smiling slightly as Grevel shared colorful tales. The room quieted and after dessert was served, a handsome man approached a podium on a small stage and began expounding words of appreciation and admiration for her uncle's service to the greater London community. Applause and praise filled the air as Grevel Hartley approached the podium. The two men exchanged handshakes and paused for a quick photograph. Audrey's uncle offered a few modest words of thanks then encouraged everyone to stay and enjoy the evening before returning to the head table. The last of the dishes were cleared and Audrey finished up her last drop of coffee.

"Audrey, Darling, I am so happy to have you here with me tonight." He whispered.

"Me too." She gave his hand a squeeze.

"Now I promised Nicole the first dance but promise me you won't run off before we've had a chance to take a spin."

"I promise." She smiled.

"Not every penguin mates for life you know. Plenty of single tuxedos about." He called, taking his future wife by the hand and disappearing into the crowd.

Audrey stood, politely excusing herself from the table. She made a beeline for the ladies room where she found a lengthy line. Not wanting to wait, she made her way down to the lobby in search of other facilities. After a brief chat with the concierge, she followed a quiet corridor to a deserted restroom. She examined her face, touched up her lipstick and removed her shoes for a moment. She strolled around the lounge area for a few minutes, giving her feet a much needed break. With regret, she slipped her heels back on and sighed heavily. _A spin with Uncle Grevel will have to be short one_ , she confirmed.

The merriment of the ball could be heard throughout the vast lobby of the hotel. In all her trips to London, she'd never been inside The Savoy, but it certainly lived up to the hype. Every fixture was letter perfect-the art and furnishings. On her way to rejoin the festivities, she spied a darkened conservatory off the abandoned corridor and wandered inside. The walls were lined with priceless artwork and in the center of the room sat a sleek black baby grand. The rest of the room was bare and Audrey could not resist the urge to bang out a few notes on the exquisite instrument. Running her hand lightly across the keys, she found middle C and played the key softly. The note echoed through the vacant space and Audrey smiled, imagining herself before the Queen at Royal Albert Hall. Placing her handbag on the piano bench she sat down and played the only song she knew: chopsticks.

"You aren't taking requests by chance? I'd love to hear a little Gershwin."

Audrey stopped playing, startled by the sound of a man's voice.

"Please don't stop. That sounded lovely." The shadowy form of a man in the doorway moved slowly in her direction.

Not wanting to show sign of alarm, Audrey calmly collected her handbag and stood with a nonchalant air.

"I've been caught. I do apologize." She spied a side exit and turned to make her way back to the comfort and safety of the lobby.

"If not Gershwin, then how about some Bacharach? I'm a huge fan."

Audrey's heartbeat kicked into overdrive as the man's frame and face suddenly came into focus.

"It's you." She smiled with a mix of shock and relief. _The man from the piano bar in Gstaad!_

"I thought that was you. I saw you earlier. Upstairs, I mean." He smiled back.

"What are you doing here?" She asked, unable to hide the shakiness in her voice.

"The same thing you are...looking for a few moments of peace and quiet."

"No I don't mean _here_." She motioned around the conservatory. "I mean, are you a friend of Grevel's?" She asked.

"Not a friend exactly, but we travel in similar circles."

"What a coincidence. I must say this is a most unusual surprise." She tried to remain guarded, but his smile was hypnotic.

"Shall I escort you back to the ball? I'm sure the guest of honor is wondering what happened to his wife."

"His wife?" Audrey laughed. "I'm not Grevel's wife. I'm his niece."

"Is that what he's calling you?" The man winked.

"Seriously. I truly am his niece. My mother was his sister. You're thinking of Nicole. She's not his wife yet, but she'd certainly like to be."

"So where is your husband?"

"Lying in a small country cemetery." She remarked.

"Oh my! I do apologize. I had no idea."

"It's perfectly alright." She reassured him.

"So if Grevel is your uncle and your husband is permanently indisposed, would it be alright if I escorted back upstairs?" He asked again after an uncomfortable pause.

"Only if _your_ wife doesn't object." Audrey shot back.

"My wife's not here."

"Really? And it doesn't bother her that you're here alone flirting with strangers?" She eyed him suspiciously.

"I don't think so. First, she's my ex-wife. Second, she's enjoying life as a rich divorcee at our villa in Spain. And third...we're hardly strangers." He offered his arm to her with a wink.

 **Well, well...what a coincidence!**


	11. Chapter 11

Upon re-entry into the ballroom, he slipped her arm from his and took her securely by the hand, leading her purposefully through the throng of tuxedos and evening gowns. Champagne toasts and big band music swirled around them. Without a word, he lead her straight passed the bar and directly to the dance floor. As he gently slipped his hand around her waist, she immediately forgot the ache in her feet and the uncertainty in her head. He didn't give her a chance to object, but danced her into the crowd with quiet confidence. Audrey spied Grevel standing in the corner of the room. He watched her with a pleased expression, discreetly raising his glass in her direction-a sign of approval. She smiled back at him with a slight nod, suddenly unsure of how she'd arrived at this particular moment in time. Only twenty minutes early she'd been quietly seated beside her uncle, enjoying his apparent happiness in the evening's events but still eager to for the night to close. And now, she was dancing in the arms of a very handsome man who thankfully was not a stranger. Not a _complete_ stranger, anyway.

"I guess I should offer an apology." He whispered.

"What for?" She asked.

"For not extending a proper invitation to the dance floor."

"Oh that's perfectly alright." She answered.

"It's just that they were playing our song and I didn't want to miss it."

"Our song?" Audrey listened closely to the music for the first time since stepping onto the dance floor.

"It's Cheek to Cheek. Remember?" He smiled, humming the tune.

"Ah yes..." A smile crept across her face. "The song you played for me in the bar. From Royal Wedding."

"Top Hat." He corrected her with a smile.

"Yes, of course." She returned his smile with one of her own. He continued to hum softly in her ear as they moved around the dance floor. Audrey's mind raced. Whether it was the champagne or the music or the bizarre twist of fate reuniting them...she didn't know.

"I believe my version is somewhat slower. And heavier on the jazz." He commented after a minute of silence.

"This band is marvelous, but I must admit that I enjoyed your version more."

"Thank you very much."

She wasn't sure, but Audrey thought she felt his grip tighten and he seemed to pull her closer. There was still marked distance between them, but not as much as when they first started dancing. Before she realized it, one dance turned to many as the evening and the band played on. Their feet stayed on the dance floor for at least a half hour, never stopping for a break other than to guess what the next song might be. Audrey couldn't remember when she'd laughed or enjoyed herself so much. If asked to recapitulate the conversation that'd occurred between the hotel's quiet conservatory and the noisy ballroom, Audrey would have found herself ill equipped. After taking the gentleman's tuxedoed arm, she somehow lost all track of time and place...and herself. They'd even taken a few moments to stroll around the lobby, with Richard narrating the various objets d'art on display at the famed hotel, before finding their way back to the mingling masses upstairs. She was immediately impressed by his sense of humor and easy going nature, though her heart continued to beat rapidly despite his relaxed demeanor. It was as if they'd known one another for years. It was, she recalled later, the exact feeling that crept up on her after piano-side cognacs at a mountain retreat. The mutual attraction was evident and their flirtatious banter confirmed the fact.

With every new tune, upbeat and bubbly or slow and sensual, he hummed or sang the words softly in her ear. But as with all good things, the songs ended, the band prepared for a short break, and they were left standing and staring at one another in the middle of the dance floor.

"That was lovely. I haven't danced like that in years. Thank you." She smiled.

"I'd be honored if you'd join me for one more. That is when the band starts back up."

"I love to, it's just that..." She looked anxiously around the room in search of Grevel.

"Oh I'm so sorry. I've forgotten my manners once more."

"What?" She questioned with a confused look.

"If I'm keeping you from someone..."

"No, it's not that. As much as I adore dancing, I made the wrong choice in footwear. I think I may need to retire my dance card for the evening." She shifted her weight back and forth.

"Sacrificing comfort for fashion?" He pointed down at the floor, motioning toward her feet.

"A woman's prerogative...and also her greatest downfall." She joked.

"How about a drink then? I think we've earned it."

"That would be wonderful."

"Right this way."

With his hand on the small of her back, he ushered her through the crowd and to the bar that waited on the other side of the ballroom. The evening was growing older with each passing moment, though it wasn't obvious by the large crowd still assembled in Grevel's honor.

"Champagne? A glass of wine? Or maybe some Remy?" He asked, raising a playful eyebrow at the suggestion of the familiar cognac.

"As tempting as those choices are, I think I'd like a glass of water."

"Fine." He nodded, turning to the bartender.

Audrey scanned the crowd once more, attempting to catch Grevel's eye. She studied the corner where he'd stood moments before, but found a host of new faces in his place. The bandstand was vacant, but many couples still stood about the dance floor, eager for the next set. She finally caught a glimpse of her uncle across the room, laughing and holding court with several grey-haired contemporaries. Nicole, she noticed, was nowhere to be seen.

"Here you are." He handed Audrey a glass.

"Thank you." She quickly downed the entire glass in very un-Audrey like fashion.

"I'm glad that was water and not something else." He teased as she sat the empty glass back down on the bar.

"I'm so sorry. Not very lady-like I suppose."

"You forgot to Duke it."

" _Duke_ it? I'm not sure I understand."

"John Wayne. The American cowboy. You know...throw it back, slam your empty glass down on the bar, then wipe your mouth with your sleeve."

"You mean like this..." She grabbed the Scotch he'd ordered from his hand, polished off the contents of his glass in seconds, then proceeded to 'Duke' it fully to the letter of his description-but opting instead for a light dabbing of her lips upon the sleeve of her dress. She drew a deep breath and exhaled with a prideful smirk. He stood dumbfounded; shaking his head with a grin.

"Lipstick?"

"A hazard, yes. Hardly worth ruining a perfectly good evening gown. And all of London society is watching. There is some manner of decorum that I'm forced to uphold...Duke or no Duke." She winked.

"That was bloody brilliant." His eyes sparkled.

"I'm not one to back down to a challenge."

"I wasn't aware that I'd made it a challenge."

"A challenge, a suggestion...makes no difference. I can play with the big boys-John Wayne and present company not excluded."

"Would you care for something else to drink?" He asked, still grinning.

"No, but I would love a pair of comfy slippers about now."

"Time to move the party. Shall we find a quiet table?"

"I don't think a quiet table exists in here, but we can certainly try."

"No, I mean literally moving the party. I have a driver waiting outside. We have one of the most exciting cities at our feet. Even for those which are aching and tired. I know a place not far from here..."

Audrey's heart once again found the rapid rhythm that consumed her as they'd wandered the lobby arm in arm. And now he was extending the invitation that she secretly longed for but was deathly afraid to act on. In all her life she'd made her exit from a ball in only one of two ways: alone or on Marton's arm. And now, with forty right around the corner, she stood before a handsome man who made her laugh and took her breath away...and she was as nervous as a young teen.

"Or I'd be happy to take you home. Whichever you prefer." He quickly added, noticing the hesitation in her eyes and suddenly afraid he'd overstepped his bounds.

"Will there be dancing?" She inquired.

"Only if the coat check girl has a pair of bunny slippers for loan." He teased.

"I think my dancing days are over for a while."

"Actually it's a jazz bar that I used to frequent in my younger days. No dancing, just really good music. It's small and quiet. A nice place to have a nightcap, but only if you're up to it. As I said, my driver will take you anywhere."

"I have a driver as well this evening." She remembered.

"We could send him on his way. I'm sure he wouldn't mind knocking off early. And I'd be more than willing to compensate him for you."

"Oh that won't be necessary." She looked over his shoulder, trying to spy Grevel one last time.

"Is something wrong?" He asked.

"Well I was hoping to say goodnight to Grevel. I hate to leave without doing so. He is the guest of honor and we are family, but I can't seem to keep track of him. He keeps disappearing." Her gaze traveled back and forth across the crowd.

"I'm sure he'll understand. You could give him a call in the morning."

"I guess you're right. And if I know Grevel, he may have moved his party elsewhere too."

"Then shall we go?"

"Of course, but only if you can answer one question." She eyed him with a solemn look.

"Alright." He was surprised by the sudden change in her tone.

"You remembered our song, my preferred cognac, my favorite football team, my political leanings, and my love of Burt Bacharach. You have not, however, given me any indication this evening that you remember my name." She looked him squarely in the eye.

He glanced down shyly at the floor for a moment, trying desperately not to smile. "Are you implying that I don't know your name?" His eyes met hers.

"I'm not implying. I'm stating. Plainly."

"Well of course I remember your name. It's Abigail." He nodded firmly.

"No." She shook her head.

"Annabelle?"

"Wrong."

"Anastasia?"

She continued to shake her head disapprovingly, offering only a sigh as he struggled.

"I know...it's Antoinette!" He snapped his fingers with smile.

"Do you give up?" She folded her arms across her chest in blatant frustration.

He held her gaze for several moments, sharing a serious look before speaking to her in a tender whisper. "I never give up, Audrey. That's why you're leaving here with me and not someone else." He took her by the hand, leading her out the main doors of the ballroom.

 **Still enjoying this little tale? Lemme know with a review! Thanks so much for reading!**


	12. Chapter 12

She showed no sign of protest, following closely beside him until they reached the entrance in front of The Savoy. He released his tight grip on her hand and searched his pockets. After a moment or two, he produced a small ticket for the valet. The night air had picked up a bit and Audrey shivered slightly, wishing she'd remembered to bring a wrap. He sensed her temporary discomfort and immediately he removed his jacket, draping it lightly around her shoulders while they waited for his car.

"I thought you said you have a driver." She mentioned after a lengthy silence.

"I do have a driver." He confirmed with a nod.

"But the valet is retrieving your car?"

"No, he's calling my driver. See?" He pointed as the young man dialed a red phone atop the valet stand. "As much as The Savoy would love to display a host of expensive automobiles outside their main entrance, it's just not practical. All drivers are directed to a parking garage."

"So your automobile is expensive, is it?"

"I didn't say that."

"You don't have to." Audrey smiled as a Rolls Royce Corniche pulled slowly around the corner, stopping precisely in front of them. A tall, thin balding man promptly exited the vehicle, nodding at Audrey's escort.

"Good Evening, Sir."

"Good Evening, Rodney. Allow me to introduce this lovely woman on my arm. Rodney, this is Audrey. No last name. Just Audrey." He winked at her.

"My pleasure, Madam." The gentleman offered a slight bow.

"We thought we might have a small nightcap with a touch of jazz."

"Did you have somewhere in particular in mind, Sir?" The driver asked.

"Yes, I do. Three Raps. But I think we can manage on our own." He turned to Audrey, extending his hand. "Your valet ticket, please."

"I don't have one."

"No ticket? What is your driver's name?"

"He's not my personal chauffer...just a limousine driver that I hired for the evening." She answered with slight embarrassment. "I do have his business card."

"Did you get his name?" He inquired.

"His name's Tobin with Elite Limousine Service." She quickly searched her handbag for the card.

Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out his wallet. "Rodney, would you please settle up Audrey's account with Elite? You can send Mr. Tobin on his way." He placed a collection of bills in Rodney's hand. "And here's a little something extra for you."

"Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir."

"I'll ring you in the morning if I need you." Again he retrieved Audrey's hand, guiding her around to the passenger's side. With a genteel smile, he opened her door and waited until she was comfortably seated.

"Very good, Sir." The driver gave a confirming nod.

In seconds, he was behind the wheel and they were alone again, with Rodney standing by himself in front of the hotel.

"What just happened?" Audrey asked as the Corniche pulled away from the curb.

"Change of plans." He kept his gaze fixed firmly on the street.

"But what about your poor driver?" Audrey glanced out the back window.

"He's very resourceful. He'll find his way home."

"And what about my poor driver?"

"After he sees the tip you left for him, he'll be anything but poor." He winked.

"You certainly didn't need to do that."

"I know I didn't, but I wanted to."

"Well thank you."

"So what will it be? The city of London is yours for the taking."

"The small jazz bar?"

"Excellent choice...but only if you can answer one question." He quickly glanced her way.

"And what would that be, _Richard_?" She tried to suppress a giggle as she turned her head to look at him. Instantly she found the hint of a smile on his lips.

"Well, well...clairvoyant as well as beautiful." He commented, stealing another quick glance at her. "Shall we dispense with anonymity and exchange last names as well?" He asked.

"And give up the air of mystery? What could be more stimulating than secrecy?"

"Are you asking for a list?" He couldn't hide the seductive quality in his voice and Audrey felt a slight blush on her cheeks.

"Are you always this flirtatious?" She asked after a pregnant pause, trying to be demure and failing miserably.

"Do you always answer a question with a question?"

"That depends."

"Upon what?"

"Are you asking for a list?" She countered with coy expression.

"Only if my name's on it." He winked at her once more.

They found a parking spot on a side street and walked hand in hand to the jazz bar, still laughing and talking. As they rounded a corner, Audrey realized that she was literally a stone's throw from her hotel. She considered mentioning the fact, but changed her mind for fear of sounding too forward. What would he think? _By the way, my hotel's just a few blocks from here..._

He held open the door in a dimly lit alcove that led up a flight of narrow stairs. She climbed the stairs with a sudden uncomfortable feeling inside. The champagne and Scotch that so easily induced carefree feelings were beginning to wear off, and now she wondered if she was following a path that she'd regret when sunlight entered her suite. Unaware of it, her pace slowed and Richard bumped into her.

"Audrey? Are you alright?" He asked with a sincere tone.

"Yes, I'm fine." She lied, continuing up the stairs to yet another door. She reached for the handle, but found the door was locked. Again, self doubt flooded her mind and she wished she was back safely at Grevel's side.

"Give it a knock. Three hard raps." He commanded.

Audrey did as instructed and in a moment, the door opened to reveal a small, dark, smoky club on the other side.

"That's amazing. How did you do that?" She asked, nodding at the door attendant as she stepped inside.

"Do what?"

"Make a bar appear from thin air?"

"It's a secret. And I know how secrecy _stimulates_ you." Again his hand found the small of her back as they moved to an empty table in the back corner. He pulled her chair out with a smile before sitting down across from her. A votive flickered inside a blown glass hurricane lamp in the center of the small round table. A young waitress approached them, tray in hand, and for a second Audrey wondered if she'd tell Richard that he had a phone call. The scene was eerily reminiscent of their final moments together in the piano bar at The Grand. Instead, she greeted them with a pleasant look and asked to take their order.

"Bin Twenty-Seven?" He asked.

"Perfect." Audrey confirmed.

"Make it two, then."

The waitress nodded and left them alone. Richard let out a heavy sigh; his eyes cruising the perimeter of the bar.

"Looks like the band is on break."

"I'm rather enjoying the quiet." Audrey rested her arms on the table.

"The party was smashing, wasn't it?"

"Yes it was. I think my uncle really enjoyed himself."

"I don't know him very well, but I can't remember a time when we've attended similar events and he wasn't enjoying himself."

"With a nice prize on his arm, no doubt?"

"Grevel Hartley does have an eye for the ladies, from what I've seen."

"An eye or a bank account?"

"A little of both, I suspect."

"You mentioned that you move in similar circles-with my uncle, I mean. Are you a member of the O.B.N.?"

"What's that?"

"Old Boys Network. Are you an Oxford man? Cambridge?"

"Neither, I'm afraid. Just getting by on me looks and wits at the moment." He responded with a heavy cockney accent.

"I don't think looks and wits pays the bill on a Corniche."

"You'd be surprised what looks and wits can buy these days."

The waitress returned, placing snifters of plum-colored port in front of them. Audrey raised her glass with smile.

"To looks and wits."

"Two qualities you have in spades." He clicked his glass lightly against hers.

About halfway through the port wine, three very young gentlemen approached the small stage to begin what Audrey would later describe as one of the most talented trios she'd ever heard. The flavor of their music was torchy and soulful, containing an almost sensual quality. Several times she found herself closing her eyes, completely entranced by the sultry sounds of the piano, bass and drums. Each time she opened her eyes to find him smiling back at her. It'd happened before, in Gstaad, when he'd played a string of jazzy tunes for her. This time, however, she wasn't embarrassed and simply smiled back. They'd spoken only a handful of words, exchanging knowing looks and glances to the rhythm of the music around them. There was definitely a connection between them...one that Audrey had never felt before.

"How are your feet?" He asked, breaking a long silence.

"Much better, thank you."

"Do you think you might be able to persuade them for one more dance?"

"I thought this was a dance-free zone."

"It is...'No dancing _on the tables_ '. See? It says so right on that small green sign behind the bar." He pointed across the room.

"That sign says 'Cash only.'"

"Is that what it says? But I could've sworn..." He grinned.

"I don't remember seeing a coat check girl. No bunny slippers."

He moved his chair closer to hers, reaching under the table and resting his hand lightly on her knee.

"Give me you leg." He whispered.

"Excuse me?" She asked.

"Your leg please, Madam."

Audrey looked into his dark brown eyes, unsure how to respond to such an obvious advance. The calming nature of the jazz was immediately forgotten as her heartbeat kicked into high gear. Cautiously she raised her left leg, letting it rest on his lap. His hand lingered momentarily on her ankle before sliding down and removing her strappy healed shoe. He dropped it to the floor, reaching then for her right leg. His actions lasted less than thirty seconds, and it was somehow both sexual and innocent at the same time. He stood, never breaking eye contact, and took her hand in his as they slowly made their way toward the tiny vacant dance floor.

His arm slipped comfortably around her waist, just as it had inside the elegant Savoy ballroom. Only this time, he held her closer. Much closer. The smoke and music rolled around them like a fog and Audrey began to feel herself slip away. Resting her cheek against his, she smiled and closed her eyes. It was then, after a minute in his arms, that she recalled the vivid dream she'd had the night at The Grand-of a tuxedo-clad Richard holding her in much the same way on a moonlit patio. Their bodies melted into each other until the final jazzy notes began to fade. He pulled back slightly and looked down into her eyes.

"It's getting late. Shall we go?" His expression was serious and Audrey was confused by the sudden change in his demeanor.

"Of course." She replied.

She collected her shoes and handbag from their table while he paid their tab at the bar. With a quiet nod, he motioned toward the door then helped her into his dinner jacket once more. The silence between them remained until they found themselves back on the deserted street in front of the hidden jazz bar. They walked half a block before she summoned the courage to break the uncomfortable silence.

"Is something wrong?"

"No. Why?"

"No reason." She replied, noticing his hands tucked firmly in his pockets-a marked change in his body language.

They continued on in silence until they reached his car where he fumbled for his keys. After a second he unlocked the passenger side door and opened it for her. She approached him, checking her watch for the first time since leaving the hotel. He was right...it was getting late.

"My hotel is just a couple of blocks from here." She motioned back behind them. "If you wouldn't mind dropping me...or I could just walk. The night air is really quite refreshing. And I hate to inconvenience you any further this evening."

"Audrey..." He closed the car door and turned to face her. Their bodies were almost touching and the air around them had suddenly grown still.

"Yes?" She looked up at him. He could see it in her eyes-a look that was questioning and in need of reassurance.

"Something is wrong." He confessed.

"Okay." She nodded, feeling that now familiar flutter inside.

"If I'd stood with you on that dance floor for another moment..." He reached out, gently tucking a strand of blond hair behind her ear.

"Richard, please..." She sighed and leaned back against the car.

"The safest thing for both of us was to get you out of that bar." He stepped closer, closing the gap between them.

"How do you know I'm the type of woman that likes to play it safe?"

"If you weren't, then I wouldn't be trying so hard to be a perfect gentleman right now."

"But you've been a perfect gentleman all night." She reached up and adjusted his bow tie; her hands barely peeking out beneath the cuffs of his jacket.

"And it hasn't been easy."

"Well I can't remember a night when I've enjoyed myself more."

"I remember this one particular night when a mysterious blond wearing a plaid skirt and sweater strolled into a piano bar in Gstaad. Now that was a night..." He said, turning and leaning against the car. They were now standing shoulder to shoulder and Audrey liked the feel of his strong arm against hers. "But she disappeared without a trace. One minute we're ordering coffee and next minute she was gone. No clues, other than her name was Audrey and she drank cognac like a fish."

"That's because she thought you were married."

"How on earth did she come to that conclusion?"

"Because your wife called down to the bar."

"My wife?" Richard thought hard for a moment, then laughed out loud. "That wasn't my wife. That was my mother."

"Your mother?"

"I promised my mother a trip to the mountains. Then I broke my leg. Well, she was heartbroken at the thought of cancelling. So I did what any guilty son would've done. I grabbed a sturdy cane and took her to Gstaad...cast and all."

Audrey laughed, both amused and touched by his story-and disappointed that she'd bolted from the piano bar so quickly.

"Well that explains it then." She turned to him.

"Explains what?"

"Why you're the perfect gentleman. If a man respects his mother, then he respects all women."

"Now hold on, respect is a pretty strong word. I think 'fear' is more appropriate in my mother's case." He joked.

"A little fear is not necessarily a bad thing. It keeps you honest." She smiled; her eyes sparkling in the glow of the street lamp.

"Are you afraid of me, Audrey?" He asked, turning his body to face her; the somber tone returning to his voice once more.

"Should I be?"

He looked into her eyes, taken by their expressive hue. He couldn't define their true color, but her gaze reminded him of the ocean with tinges of deepest blue and green. Suddenly the street lamps and darkened store fronts disappeared around them. He leaned into her and felt the softness of her lips for the first time. It was the kind of kiss that a man like Richard feared most. Delicate. Delicious. Dangerous. A kiss that signified only one thing: he was standing on the edge about to fall head first.

He pulled away quickly, worried that he may have crossed the line. They stood staring at one another for several moments before Audrey spoke.

"You forgot to Duke it." She whispered. Her expression was serious as she moved her hands up his pleated shirt front.

"I'm sorry?"

"Like this..." She slipped her arms around his neck, pulling his body closer. His hands moved underneath his tuxedo jacket and firmly around her waist. All the lights of London seemed to vanish as she found his lips once more. The dancing, the jazz, the laughter...all just a prelude to what they'd really wanted. They lost themselves for a minute before Audrey finally regained control and pulled away. She looked up at him with a breathless grin before wiping her mouth in dramatic fashion on the sleeve of his tuxedo jacket.

 **Thank for reading!**


	13. Chapter 13

An irksome sliver of light streamed in between the edges of the velvet drapery panels, falling precisely upon her closed eyelids. It took several moments to process and identify the nuisance, as she rolled over with a satisfied sigh. Reaching out, she rested her hand on the pillow beside her with a smile, though her eyes remained firmly closed. She was almost afraid to open them-afraid that she might find the final hours of wakefulness to be nothing more than a bizarre dream. An amazingly wonderful yet bizarre dream. With a blink, she confronted reality.

Immediately she focused on the small chaise across the room and the black tuxedo jacket that lay draped across the back. The smile returned as she moved her gaze to the bedside table and the matchbook sitting quietly beside the phone. Written inside was a phone number. No name. Just a hastily scrawled set of digits in his hand. The smile grew wider as she sighed again, remembering a man and a moment on a deserted London side street.

Sitting up, she checked the clock before reaching for the matchbook. Not that she needed it...she'd committed his number to memory somewhere around the three o'clock hour. Was it too early to call? She tapped the matchbook against her thumbnail several times then reached for the phone. After a quick call down for room service, she enlisted the help of the hotel operator to dial the one person she needed to talk to most.

"Yes?"

"Good morning." Audrey beamed.

"Aud?"

"Yes, Marjory, it's me."

"Is everything alright?"

"Of course. Wonderful, in fact."

"Are you on your way back?"

"Well, that's why I'm calling. I'm not coming home. Not today anyway."

"I hope it's not bad news. Is it something with your uncle?"

"No, no, nothing like that." Audrey bit her bottom lip as she twisted the phone cord around her finger.

"You're not ill are you?"

"I'm fine. It's just that something's come up. Or someone, I should say." She giggled.

"What do you mean?"

"Do you remember the man in the piano bar in Gstaad?"

Marjory thought a moment. "You mean the married Polish gent with a limp?"

"That's the one. Only he's not married. And he's definitely not Polish. And as an added bonus, he's lost the limp."

"What are you saying?"

"I ran into him. Last night. At Uncle Grevel's soiree."

"No! You mean he was staying at The Savoy?"

"No, I mean he was a guest at Grevel's dinner."

"He knows Grevel?"

"Not exactly. They travel in the same business circles. He knows Uncle Grevel, but doesn't really _know_ him..."

"Wow, Aud, talk about coincidence."

"It goes _way_ beyond coincidence." Audrey could not hide the excitement in her voice.

"What do you mean?"

"We spent the night together." She confessed after a pregnant pause.

"Audrey Louisa fforbes-Hamilton, you tramp! You absolute tramp!"

"No wait! I don't mean the _whole_ night. Just the better part of it."

Marjory listened with the attentions of a school girl as Audrey replayed the events of the entire day, starting with tea at Harrod's. She was an excellent story-teller, leaving little for Marjory to question. After sharing the details of the reunion with Grevel, she went on to describe the surprise tête-à-tête that occurred inside an empty conservatory in The Savoy, followed by dancing, the secret jazz hideaway and finally, the kiss underneath a flickering streetlamp.

"...and then he brought me back to my hotel, escorted me to the door of my suite where he politely kissed my hand and asked if I would please consider staying in London one additional evening. Even offered to pick up the tab, as they say. Of course, I _would_ be a tramp if I allowed him to do that." She joked. "Though he did pay for my limousine."

"Sounds like the perfect gentleman. I just can't believe that you ran into him again. I'm glad he's not married."

"The funny thing is that he thought I was married. I was still wearing my wedding ring in Gstaad, you see. He actually thought that Grevel was my husband." Audrey laughed.

"Aren't you a little old to be a Mrs. Hartley? From what you've told me, I mean?"

"By well over a decade. Grevel's always had a thing for child brides."

"So you'll be coming home tomorrow?"

"Absolutely. Richard said he's returning to his country estate tomorrow. He moved his mother out to the country recently. He's an only child and very devoted to her. You have to admire a man like that."

"I can meet you at the station if you like."

"Oh that won't be necessary. I'll have Brabinger collect me. I'm sure you'll be exhausted after today's events out at the manor. In fact, we'd better hang up. You have a full day ahead of you."

"Yes...well...about that..." Marjory hesitated.

"DeVere will have his hands full with the pony club, won't he? Baptism by fire. It'll do him some good. I'm almost sad that I won't be there to witness it firsthand."

"You won't miss much, I'm afraid." Marjory sighed.

"What do you mean?"

"You were long gone yesterday when I heard the news."

"What news?"

"The manor is not hosting the pony club. Or any club for that matter. Seems DeVere has issued a moratorium on attaching Grantleigh's name to anything other than his own personal leisure."

"But he can't do that."

"He can and he has. In fact, from what I've seen, it's probably best that you're in London and not home at the Lodge."

"Why is that?"

"In addition to cancelling the pony club, he's enlisted an entire fleet of farm implements to _clean up the estate_. The Rector and I took a stroll up by Peregrine's Folly yesterday afternoon. Oh Audrey, I'm so glad you weren't here to see it."

"See what, Marjory?" Audrey's tone hinted at impatient.

"The hedgerows...your favorite tree...even Milne Bridge."

"What about them?"

"They're gone." Marjory answered after an uncomfortable silence.

"Gone? Gone where?"

"I mean he's taken them out. No more hedgerows. No more favorite hiding spot. No more Pooh Sticks at the bridge."

"What in bloody hell? Those hedgerows have been there for ages. And my tree? That tree was planted when my grandfather was born. All our initials and birthdays are carved into that tree."

"I'm so sorry, Audrey. I know this must be very upsetting to you. I hated to even tell you, but I know you'd rather find out sooner than later."

"Well someone has to stop him."

"Be realistic, Aud. Grantleigh is his now. He owns it free and clear. If he wants to turn it into a three-ring circus, there's nothing anyone can do."

"Well I'm not going to sit back and do nothing. I'm coming home."

"To do what?"

"To tell DeVere the way it is. Somebody has to."

"You mean to tell him the way it _was_." Marjory paused a minute, feeling guilty for painting such a harsh picture. Audrey didn't respond, but sat silent on her end. "Arnold was right. There's a new world order. And it's DeVere's world now. You've got to be smart about this, Audrey. Do really want to spend the rest of your life playing David to his Goliath? He's got the money, the power and the connections. What have you got? Four hundred years of tradition. Do you honestly think you can win?"

"I can't win if I don't try." Audrey remarked after another moment of silence.

"You tried. You tried your bloody best to raise the money. And it didn't happen. Game over, Aud. Game over. The sooner you realize this, the sooner you can get on with your life."

"I guess you're right." Audrey sighed.

"What would you rather do? Come back here and confront DeVere for chopping down some tree that means absolutely nothing to him, after-the-fact mind you, or spend the evening on the town dining and dancing with a handsome man who appears to be very interested in you? Take your time now, Dear. I know this is a tough one." Marjory teased. "And remember, you're out there in the name of widows everywhere who'd kill for a second chance at love."

"Or a first chance." Audrey muttered quietly.

"What's that?" Majory asked.

"I said, 'When you put it that way.'"

"You always say that everything happens for a reason. Well, it looks like Mr. What's-His-Name is more than just a chance meeting."

"It does seem that way, doesn't it?" Audrey found her smile once again as she reached for the matchbook."

"What is his name anyway?"

"I have no idea."

"What?"

"He hinted around, but I like the secrecy of it all. Makes it that much more intriguing."

"So you're seeing him again tonight and you have no idea what his last name is?"

"Of course. It's not like it matters. Unless he's a Windsor..." Audrey laughed.

"And he doesn't know your last name either?"

"He does not. I'm _Just Audrey_."

"And should the evening run a little longer than last night...will you exchange surnames then?"

"Just what are you implying, Marjory?"

"I'm not implying anything. I'm asking in plain terms. Can you spend the night with someone and keep it on a first name basis only? Or does that blur the line between _Lady_ and the _Tramp_?"

"Marjory Edith Frobisher. If I didn't know better..."

"Oh but you do, Audrey. You know better than most." Marjory teased.

A quiet knock sounded on the other side of the door. "Listen, Marjory, room service is here so I must go. I'll ring you tomorrow as soon as I'm home."

"Assuming you do come home."

"I'm hanging up now."

"Bye, Aud. Have a good time."

Audrey slipped out of bed and into her robe, brushing her hair quickly into place with her fingers as she approached the door. In addition to the breakfast tray she'd ordered, she was surprised to find a lovely bouquet of flowers along with a present.

"These were delivered for you first thing this morning, Ma'am." The attendant announced.

"Thank you very much." Audrey stood back, allowing his entry into the suite.

"Would you like them on the coffee table?"

"That will be fine. Thank you." Audrey eyed the massive arrangement of fresh cut flowers that instantly brightened the room and made her forget the distressing conversation with Marjory.

"Will there be anything further, Ma'am?" The attendant asked.

"I don't think so. Thank you very much."

"If you'll sign here." He produced a receipt from the inside pocket of his jacket.

Audrey obliged, leaving her signature on the bottom of the room service ticket. Within seconds the attendant was tucking the receipt back inside his jacket and closing the door to the suite quietly behind him.

Alone, she sat down on the small chaise, slipping out of her robe and tossing it on the floor. She reached for his tuxedo jacket and pulled it around her shoulders, smiling again as she pulled a small white envelope from the bouquet. But her smile quickly disappeared when she read the name on the envelope: _Audrey fforbes-Hamilton_.

 _So much for my little secret,_ she sighed _. I wonder how on earth he figured out my last name_. She removed the card and read the short note, pleasantly surprised to find that the flowers were not from Richard.

 _Dearest Lou,_

 _I can't begin to tell you what your presence last night meant to me. Seeing you after all these years! What a joy! You are a beautiful woman and I look forward to more catching up. Sorry we didn't exchange a proper good-bye, but you appeared to be having a good time. I'm happy that you've resolved your feud._

 _All best,_

 _Uncle Grevel_

Audrey read the sweet sentiments expressed by her uncle several time. But she was puzzled by the final line of his note. _What feud? What is he talking about?_ Her eyes moved from the bouquet to the large box wrapped in exquisite pale pink paper and tied with a bright white organza bow. She knew immediately that Grevel was to blame-most likely making up for lost time. She giggled quietly as she removed the wrapping, expecting to find a Steiff bear or other girlish treasure inside. Instead she laughed when, underneath layers of crisp tissue paper, she found a pair of pink bunny slippers. She searched the box, but there was no note or card. Smiling, she slipped them on her feet and made her way back to the phone. She glanced at the matchbook briefly before dialing. He answered on the second ring. No formal greeting…just a single, direct question.

"How do they fit?" He asked in a sleepy yet flirty tone.

"Like a glove." Looking down at her feet, she smiled and bit her bottom lip, trying not to gush.

 **Thanks for reading!**


	14. Chapter 14

Though she'd offered to meet him in the lobby, he insisted on escorting her down from her suite. The seven o'clock hour was close at hand, though time had stood still all day. She'd hoped the afternoon hours spent in some of the more exclusive shops would have helped pass the time. But the anticipation of seeing him again and the hope of continuing what had started on a deserted London street could not be suppressed with the mundane task of shopping. A task, in fact, that Audrey actually loathed. She did, however, strike gold in a small boutique in Knightsbridge and she now stood before the full length mirror on the bathroom door examining her purchase-the classic little black dress. She'd questioned the revealing neckline and uncomfortably short hemline under the harsh fluorescent lights in the tiny dressing room, but now, with Richard just minutes away, she knew she'd made the right choice. And, with the addition of a haute couture taffeta trench coat in a dramatic shade of gunmetal, she looked anything but the simple Marlbury country girl. Her normally severe blond locks were styled in soft, loose waves, and she ran her hand through her hair one last time before flipping off the bathroom light.

With a quick glance around the suite, she smiled. She'd tidied up, leaving only the floral arrangement, his freshly cleaned tuxedo jacket and the bunny slippers in plain view. She transferred the necessary contents of her large handbag to a petite beaded clutch bag she'd found earlier that day in another high-end boutique. She'd just dropped a brand new tube of lipstick in her bag when a soft rap sounded. With a deep breath, she crossed the room and opened the door.

As eager as he was to whisk her off on a romantic evening, Richard stood immobile in the hallway upon sight of her. Though she'd looked exquisite the night before, dressed in a soft, flowing gown that highlighted her eyes, she was now something completely different. He paused a moment; his mind shuffling through a list of possible adjectives. She was beyond striking. She was more than radiant. There was something else about her. Something that set her apart from every other woman in Richard's past. She was mature, confident and comfortable in her own skin-the complete antithesis of everything that he'd chased of late. And suddenly the feeling that consumed him the night before as he'd held her on a dark dance floor caused his heart to beat faster. Much faster.

"Good evening, Richard." Audrey smiled.

"My goodness, Audrey...you look absolutely stunning."

"Thank you. I wasn't sure what you'd planned. I hope this is alright." She ran her hand across the lapel of the stylish trench.

"It's perfect. You look beautiful."

"Just let me get my evening bag. And I had your jacket sent out. Thank you again..." She stepped back away from the door and he took a few steps inside her suite. Immediately he noticed the large bouquet on the coffee table.

"Guess I'm not your only admirer. Not that I'm surprised."

"Oh! Those! Those came this morning. From Uncle Grevel." Audrey dropped her room key in her purse.

"They're lovely. I hope you extended my apologies to him for stealing you away from his party."

"Actually, I haven't talked to him, aside from a stack of phone messages. I phoned earlier, but according to his house man, he had some business up in Luton. Horses, I suspect. So I missed him. Then he phoned here this afternoon, but I was out. We keep missing each other. I'd left word that I was staying another night, and he asked that we meet for brunch tomorrow. So I'll be taking the late afternoon train back to Taunton."

"Taunton? But I'm driving right through Taunton tomorrow. Why don't you let me drive you home?"

"Oh I couldn't possibly ask you to do that. And the concierge already exchanged my ticket. Really, I don't mind taking the train."

"But it would be my pleasure."

"Really, Richard..." She shook her head. "I'm not meeting Grevel until eleven. And if I recall, you said that you planned to be on the road _bright and early_."

"Yes, but that was before." He smiled.

"Before what?" She asked.

"Before you opened that door." He motioned back to the door of her suite with a seductive grin.

"What if I said I'd consider it?"

"I'd say that's good enough for me. Shall we?" He offered his elbow, just as he had the night before inside the dimly lit conservatory. Then with a grin, he swung his freshly pressed tuxedo jacket over his shoulder.

"Let's be off." She linked her arm through his with a smile.

Outside her hotel, she found that he'd dismissed his driver once again. And secretly, she was glad she had him all to herself. The thought of a stranger's eyes watching them from the rear view mirror of the Corniche was unbearable. And she had to admit that just watching his masculine form in control of the car was a guilty pleasure. The way he gripped the gear shift with his left hand-strong and firm-while his right hand, in sharp contrast, lay loose and relaxed over the top of the steering wheel.

"How do you feel about French?"

"Well, I still haven't forgiven William and his so-called Conquest." She joked.

"Not the country...the cuisine." He chuckled.

"I adore French cooking."

"There's a charming little bistro in Chelsea that has an extensive wine cellar and the most fabulously creamy crab gratin in a mustard brandy sauce. The chef is a virtual magician."

"Sound delicious."

"But we don't have to go French. Italian? Asian? Sushi? Whatever you like."

"I think the bistro sounds delightful."

"Then the bistro it is." He smiled as he pulled out into Saturday evening traffic.

The conversation en route to the restaurant was just as natural and effortless as it had been the evening before. They talked about everything, from silly to serious, just as they had during the predawn hours in the piano bar. There was never a lull or uncomfortable moment between them...not even when Richard's hand slipped off the gearshift and rested lightly upon hers. He never made eye contact, but kept his gaze firmly fixed on the busy streets in front of them. Several times his thumb rubbed gently against hers and by the time the arrived at their destination, their fingers were laced tightly together.

From the minute they stepped into the bistro, time somehow lost all meaning. Three hours and two bottles of wine disappeared. Dishes were brought and cleared. Other patrons dined and departed. And still, they sat completely captivated by one another and totally oblivious to the world around them. They discussed books and movies, recited favorite poems, analyzed crazy dreams and discussed nine seasons worth of World Cup winners. For every quip she made, he had a humorous one-liner. Sometimes sexual and sometimes not. The tension between them was obvious. But it wasn't until the waiter delivered two cappuccinos that she realized that despite the hours of conversation, she still knew very little about him.

"May I ask you a very personal question?" She rested her cup neatly on her saucer.

"Certainly."

"What happened with you and your wife?"

"Well, I'd like to say that we fell victim to complacency and just stopped trying, since that seems to be the reason most couples call it quits. But it was much simpler than that...and much more embarrassing. She left me. Had an affair. With my chauffeur."

"Oh Richard, I'm so sorry."

"He took her for a ride. And she took me for one as well." He tried to make a joke.

"Don't say that." She shook her head.

"But it's true. It doesn't bother me anymore. I got what I deserve. I made a fool of myself. I married a woman that was much too young and who was only interested in what I could give her, not what I could be for her."

"The Grevel Syndrome?"

"In a manner of speaking..." He nodded, taking another sip of cappuccino. "It didn't hurt that much. Just my pride and my wallet. A small price to pay for a two year investment gone bad. He smiled. "Now then, since we've moved from pop culture to public confessional, it's your turn."

"You want to know about Marton? My late husband?"

"How late?"

"Not very. Quite recent, actually. He died a couple of months ago."

"Oh I'm so sorry. I didn't realize. Let's talk about something else."

"It doesn't bother me. Really." She gave him a reassuring nod. "I'd like to say it was something simple and embarrassing like syphilis, but Marton never made my life easy." She smiled.

"Now Audrey..." Richard tried to distinguish if her blatant sarcasm was a thinly veiled attempt at hiding her true feelings.

"The only thing I felt after Marton died was relief. I never loved him. Well, I shouldn't say that. I did love him once, but I was just a naive young girl. He was a fairy tale prince to me." Audrey paused, looking into her half empty cup for a moment. "And let's face it, the fairy tale is so much more satisfying than the real thing." She looked up to find his honest brown eyes locked onto her. It was those trusting eyes that allowed her to open up in ways that she never had before.

"How long were you married?" He asked.

"Eighteen years."

"And no children?

"Just my Bertie."

"Bertie?"

"My beagle." She grinned.

A quiet moment fell between them before Richard spoke again. "Well, I say we've resurrected enough ghosts of Christmas past. What would you say to some relaxing music at my favorite piano bar?"

"That sounds wonderful." She smiled warmly.

The Corniche weaved it's way through the streets of Chelsea and in just a few minutes they parked in front of a stately apartment building in what seemed to Audrey to be a residential area. They'd said very little after leaving the bistro, but Richard's hand had once more found hers. Again he rubbed her thumb with a gentle soothing touch.

"If you can produce jazz bars from seemingly abandoned buildings, then I'm assuming there's a piano bar inside someone's residence."

"Well, I have to confess. This _is_ my favorite piano bar, but it's also my home. Or my home-away-from-home I should say. Even though I've moved Mother to the country, I kept our apartment here for business travel. Would you like to see it? The view of the Thames is spectacular from the terrace."

"I'd love to see it." She gave his hand a squeeze.

The lift carried them to the fifth floor and the spectacular space that Richard had once called home. Though the furnishings were sparse and most surfaces devoid of personal affects, Audrey could tell that he had excellent taste.

"Well, this is it. A little bare bones, but it keeps the rain off."

"It's beautiful, Richard. The high ceilings, the moldings, the hardwood floors. Your taste is exceptional."

"Wait 'til you see the view. C'mon." He took her by the hand and led her through the living room and dining room to the large reception room. A wall of glass framed the terrace on the other side and in the middle of the room sat a gorgeous baby grand.

"Welcome to my piano bar. It's just a piano right now. I'm still working on the bar part." He winked.

"Look at that view. It's incredible." Audrey released his hand and walked across the room.

"It is beautiful. It's the sole reason I can't part with the place. Views like this are hard to come by."

"They certainly are." She sighed, shifting her focus from the flickering lights of the Thames in the distance to his reflection in the glass. He stood watching her, resting his arms on the piano. He'd loosened his tie around his neck and his posture was relaxed.

"Something to drink?" He asked.

"No thank you. But I would love a song." She turned back around to face him.

"Only if you'll help."

"But I don't play."

"Yes you do. Don't be so modest." He stretched out his hand to her, coaxing her to his side.

"But I only know one song." She reluctantly joined him on the piano bench.

"That's all you need to know." He gave her another wink, placing his fingers on the keys and playing an elaborate introduction. "Now then, just play what you know."

"Alright." She sighed, carefully examining the keys before playing the opening bars of Chopsticks.

"That's it. Keep going." He encouraged.

They sat side by side; Audrey timidly focused on the keys while Richard added the same flair that originally caught her eye in Gstaad. Her meager offerings combined with his talent and together they created a magical moment of music and laughter. The notes echoed through the empty space and as their song filled the air, her joy increased to an immeasurable proportion. Banging out the final notes, he turned to her with an enormous smile.

"I knew we'd make beautiful music together."

"You just know how to make me look good."

"That's where you're wrong." He reached up, running his hand through her hair. "You look good all by yourself. You don't need any help from me."

For the first time that evening, she didn't have a clever reply. She had no words, in fact, knowing that she was suddenly weak from just the slightest touch of his fingers through her hair.

"Richard..." His name fell from her mouth as a whisper seconds before she felt his lips. Just as he had the night before, he kissed her with a softness she'd never experienced. It was gentle and tender and just like their song, she didn't want it to end. But he pulled away; his eyes connecting with hers and sharing a silent conversation of their own.

"How is it that a grown man of forty-six can be so utterly bewitched by a woman he's seen only three times in his life?" He caressed her cheek lightly with the back of his hand.

"I don't know..." She was practically breathless.

"Actually I've seen you four times. There was the evening we spent at the old country house in front of the fireplace. Remember?"

"The country house?" She questioned with a puzzled expression.

"Ah, I didn't tell you about that dream. That was the night after we'd first met. After I'd combed The Grand in search of you."

"You looked for me? After I left the bar?"

"For at least an hour. But I gave up in favor of avoiding a scene with your supposed husband."

"So you had a dream about me?" She grinned shyly.

"You'd taken me out to a stable in search of the perfect steed, which is laughable in itself since I don't ride. Then it started to rain and we ran to an abandoned estate and dried ourselves in front of a large fireplace. Only the fireplace contained a large bank safe full of money."

"What do you think it means?" She asked coyly.

"It means that you've cast a spell on me."

"No, it means that I'm going to have to teach you the fine art of dressage."

"I bet you're a very skilled horsewoman aren't you?"

"Only because I didn't have a choice. I spent the majority of my childhood on horseback."

"In Taunton?"

"Near Taunton. At my family's estate."

"And that's where you live now?"

"Sadly no. The estate was sold after my husband's death." She tried to keep her comments upbeat. "It was more than I could handle on my own. So I packed up and moved to an adorable little cottage in the woods. I've very happy there." She lied.

"Don't you get lonely out there all by yourself?"

"I don't sit still long enough to get lonely. I volunteer with a number of organizations and assist in several community events. I try to stay busy."

"But what about the nighttime hours? Do you pass those all by yourself?" Again his hand found her hair, as he tucked a strand behind her ear just as he'd done moments before their first kiss.

"The last eighteen years have been filled with empty hours. I've simply grown accustom." She keep her eyes focused firmly on his. They were honest and open...and enticing her to say things she'd never dream of saying.

"You're not a very good liar, Audrey."

"But I'm a convincing actress when I need to be."

"Is that what this is? An act?"

"After the night we spent dancing on my patio? You should know better."

"Dancing? On your patio?"

"Well, see, you're not the only one who had a dream after our initial encounter."

"You had a dream too? About us?" He slid back slightly, crossing his arms and eager to hear her story.

"It was the night of the Summer Hunt Ball, a family tradition that dates way back. I was heartbroken that you didn't ask me, so I sat home sulking. But you arrived under the cover of darkness, slipping in through the French doors with a bouquet of flowers and an apology. You took me by the hand and led me out to the patio. We danced for a moment until..." She stopped.

"Until what?" He asked impatiently.

"I don't know, actually. That's where I woke up."

"So it's an unfinished dream, is that it?" He stood, taking her by the hand and leading her out onto the terrace. No words passed between them, as Richard took her in his arms and danced her slowly around the outdoor space. His grip was tight but not controlling, and with his cheek pressed against hers, Audrey began to feel an unusual sensation, as though she were falling. Her body relaxed against his and as it did, he pulled her even closer.

"Was it something like this?" He whispered.

"Yes. Only there was faint music in the background."

"Faint music you say?"

"But the music stopped, and that's when you kissed me. You kissed my hand, I should say."

"Like this?" He pulled her hand to his mouth, brushing it with a tender kiss. His mustache tickled the back of her hand, just as it had in her dream, and their eyes locked intensely on one another. She'd stopped his advance then, but now, with their bodies inches apart, pulling away was the last thing she wanted.

"It's getting late." She whispered. It was all she could think to say. The night air did nothing to clear her head and suddenly she felt dizzy.

"I thought I'd never see you again, Audrey. I don't want you to slip away from me again."

"I shouldn't have run away like I did."

"No, you had every reason to do what you did. You thought I was married. And by the look of the third finger on your left hand, I knew you were. And it didn't stop me from trying, which doesn't say much for my agenda, does it? And I've foolishly tried ever since."

"What do you mean?"

"Do you know that I sat her one night going line by line through the London phone book for every Audrey listed in the greater London area?" He broke eye-contact, looking out into the city lights.

"You did not." She gave his arm a good-natured slap.

"I did. I was supposed to be back at the country house with Mother entertaining our newest neighbor. But I was so obsessed with my search that I never made it. Missed the dinner entirely."

"Oh Richard!" She laughed heartily.

"And now I discover that all my efforts were for naught. You don't even reside in London." He laughed, turning his attention back on her. "All those poor women that I interrupted at all hours."

"Did you really?"

"I really did." He nodded. "If only I'd convinced that bartender at The Grand to tell me your last name. Could have saved myself a lot of trouble."

"Cinderella didn't have a last name, and yet the Prince found her." She responded with a playful grin.

"Yes, well, you didn't even give me the courtesy of leaving a glass slipper now did you?"

"You were looking for a glass slipper? Well that's your problem. My slippers are pink. And fuzzy. With little whiskers and pointy ears." She imitated bunny ears, placing her hands atop her head. "And to be honest, I wish I had them right now." She bent down, slipping her slender foot from her shoe momentarily and giving her heel a much needed rub.

"You women and your choice in footwear." He sighed.

"Our choice in torture devices, you mean."

"I've got an idea. How about we ditched the shoes and have a nightcap?"

"That sounds fabulous."

"This way..." He offered his elbow once more, leading her back through the apartment. They stopped briefly in the kitchen, where Richard scanned the near bare shelves in search of after-dinner spirits.

"It appears my normally robust stock has run dangerously low. I've got a bottle of twelve year old Scotch and about three drops of brandy." He held up a decanter with the scant remains of an amber colored liquor.

"Brandy is fine."

"One skinny brandy and one tall Scotch coming up." He smiled as he poured their drinks. With one in each hand, he motioned to her. "This way..."

Audrey followed him down the hallway, stopping only briefly to admire a glass bowl displayed on a narrow side table. The free-form shape was very artistic, but it was the color and design that caught her eye. Rust, gold and brown, swirling together to create a unique pattern. The same colors and style as the acorn paperweight that Mr. DeVere had sent her. Seeing it reminded her of the upsetting news she'd learned during her morning phone call to Marjory.

Sensing she'd stopped, Richard turned around. "Interesting piece, isn't it?"

"It's beautiful. Do you know the artist's name by chance?"

"Some Canadian chap. He has a small studio here in London. He's becoming very popular. His work is amazing yet so simple. I think that's why it appeals to me."

"It's lovely." She commented quietly before continuing on.

At the end of the hall, he paused and turned to her. "Now I don't want you to get the wrong idea..." He pushed open the door with his foot, allowing her to enter first.

"The Master Suite, I presume." Audrey's gaze made a quick sweep around the perimeter of the room. An enormous four-poster bed, dressed with exquisite linens played center stage, with two beautiful antique nightstands flanking either side. A large armoire filled another wall, and unlike the rest of the apartment, the walls inside his bedroom contained dozens of framed pieces-all black and white photographs housed in sleek, silver frames.

"Don't tell me you're a photographer as well?" Audrey studied the various groupings on each wall.

"An old hobby. I haven't shot anything in forever. Aside from the occasional drop of Tequila." He teased.

"You have quite an eye. Your composition is flawless."

"The camera never lies."

"Music, photography...you're a very talented individual."

"But you have yet to see where my true talent lies. This way." He continued on to a set of mahogany pocket doors on the other side of the suite. Sliding them apart with his hip, he revealed a secret study. "This is truly the best room in the house. And where I spend all my time."

The same wall of windows that framed the view in the reception room was duplicated in his private study. Again the city was before them, with the Thames still sparkling in the distance. The walls revealed the original brick, and she marveled at still more stunning black and white photographs on display. A large leather sectional floated in the middle of the room. Lighting was sparse; just a few track spots highlighting his work. A small television sat quietly in the corner, surrounded by stacks of books and magazines. It was, she decided after a moment, the perfect place to relax.

"Is this alright?" He asked, holding a small snifter out to her.

"I have to agree. It's the best room in the place." She took the glass from his hand, giving him a nod of approval.

"I really don't need the rest of the apartment. This is my hideaway."

"I can see why. It's very comfortable."

"And where I do my best work. Come." He sat down in the middle of the sofa and motioned for her to join him. She took a seat beside him, but not too close. A mixture of Midnight and brandy, she feared, might be too much of a test.

"Now then..." He placed his glass on the coffee table then reached down, taking an ankle with each hand. Carefully he lifted her feet into his lap, removing her shoes just as he had at the jazz club. "I honestly don't know how you women do it." He examined the high heel of her shoe before dropping it noisily on the floor. In the next moment, he moved his strong hands across her feet, giving them a healing massage. Seconds later, Audrey closed her eyes, allowing her head to fall against the back of the sofa. He massaged her feet for several minutes and again, not a word was spoken between them. Images of Mistral and his young model came to mind, as she remembered a scene from an old Judith Krantz novel.

"Your hidden talent?" She asked, breaking the silence.

"I'm not one to brag..."

"So this is your game, is it?"

"What?"

"Wine and dine poor widows, get them up into your lair, then seduce them with grand vistas, strong brandy and massage?"

"Precisely. Is it working?"

She raised her head, giving him a naughty grin. "Like a charm."

What happened in the next few minutes would be subject of debate for many years. She had no real knowledge of how she got to his bed. Had she walked or had he carried her? Had they spoken actual words or just allowed their bodies to converse? A shiny trench coat lay in a rumpled heap on the floor beside a silk tie and dinner jacket and suddenly she was flooded with a dozen sensations at once. The feel of his hands on the back of her neck as he slowly unzipped her dress. The fresh scent of lavender as they lay together on crisp linens. The faint taste of Scotch on his tongue. The look in his eyes as he slowly traced the outline of her jaw with his finger. The sounds of their collective breathing, growing more shallow with every kiss. The very real connection they'd made was now a physical exchange that Audrey was powerless to deny. The feel of his breath on her skin, as he whispered her name over and over. The gentleness of his hands, as he explored every curve. The honesty in his eyes, in the moment he lost himself inside her. She moved beneath him, wanting desperately to be closer to him. Drawing a deep breath, Audrey melted into him, overcome with feelings she'd never experienced. They held each other in a mass of tangled sheets until she felt herself slipping into dreams. Aside from the stable boy the week before her sixteenth birthday, she'd given herself to only one other man: Marton. And now, lying beside Richard, feeling the protective strength of his arm around her and delighting in the scent of his cologne-patchouli and armoise and a hint of citrus-she finally understood the monumental difference between making love and having sex. Every look and every touch they'd exchanged had been filled with tenderness. And now, in the quiet moments after, her very un-Audrey like actions left her with a very un-Audrey like question. How would she ever exist without him?

"Audrey..."

"Yes?" She whispered.

"I'm falling in love with you." Gently he traced tiny circles on her bare shoulder with his finger.

 **Hope you're enjoying the story. I'd love a review! Thanks for reading!**


	15. Chapter 15

"I trust everything was to your satisfaction?" The clerk asked, taking the credit card from her hand.

"As always." Audrey replied, pushing a pair of large tortoise shell sunglasses up on her nose.

He studied his ledgers momentarily with a puzzled expression.

"Is there a problem?" Audrey inquired, praying a silent prayer that her credit card had not been rejected.

"My records indicate that your account has been settled." He pushed her credit card across the counter toward her. "You're paid in full, Mrs. fforbes-Hamilton."

"Paid in full?" She asked, completely taken aback. "Are you quite sure?"

"Yes, Madam." He nodded, checking once more for confirmation. "And there's one more thing..." He rifled through a drawer for a moment. "This was left for you early this morning." He placed an envelope on counter in front of her.

Flipping her glasses up on her heard she gave the envelope a quick glance, finding only her room number written in large print across the front.

"Thank you very much."

"We do hope to have the honor of your presence the next time you're in London." The clerk commented with a smile.

"Most certainly." She tucked the envelope inside her purse before turning to make her way to the cab that sat waiting.

With luggage loaded and tips disbursed, Audrey settled in for the short ride that would take her to a well-known eatery in Covent Garden—Grevel's restaurant of choice for all-day Sunday brunch. She'd spoken with him by phone earlier that morning and he'd graciously agreed to move their date up by an hour. She'd made her goal: _nine-thirty and on the road._

With a sigh of relief, she fished the mystery envelope from her handbag, eager to see its contents. She slid her fingernail under the back flap, breaking the seal and removing a handwritten note along with a shiny brass key. She read the words silently, gripped by the same uncomfortable feeling that forced her from his bed and into a cab before sunrise.

 _Dearest Audrey,_

 _In case you change your mind..._

 _Always,_

 _R._

She turned the key over in her hands several times then slipped it carefully inside a hidden pocket within her wallet. Leaning her head against the window, she stared out into the mostly empty Sunday streets. Traffic was light-a sharp contrast to the heavy thoughts that clouded her mind. The battle between her head and her heart that had kept her awake most of the night returned, but she was simply too exhausted to revisit it.

The cafe was bustling with wall to wall diners. After a minute of scanning the crowd, she spied Grevel in the corner hiding behind the newspaper. A carafe of coffee was positioned in front of him, along with a plate of scones. Glancing over the rims of his glasses, he shared a friendly smile and a wave in her direction. Audrey weaved her way through the hungry masses to his table, stopping to deposit a light kiss on his cheek before taking a seat.

"Popular place." She commented, settling in beside him.

"Their brunch is fantastic." He carefully folded the paper, dropping it on the floor underneath his chair.

"May I?" She asked, reaching for the carafe.

"By all means." Grevel watched as his niece poured the steaming liquid into a bone china cup.

"I must admit my surprise." He added.

"Surprise? At what?" Audrey shot him a puzzled look.

"That you still wanted to meet. Figured you'd cancel altogether."

"Certainly not. I've been looking forward to this. And again, I'm so sorry that we didn't have an opportunity to exchange proper good-byes Friday night. It was a lovely evening."

"You were otherwise _engaged_. It's perfectly alright." He remarked, taking a sip from his coffee cup. "So where's the fire?" He asked.

"Fire?" Audrey asked.

"You sounded very anxious when we spoke this morning."

"No fire. Well, not yet anyway. I have some business to attend to this afternoon and need to get back home. Thank you for agreeing to meet a little earlier than we'd originally planned."

"Of course, of course." Grevel smiled. "More than happy to accommodate your schedule."

"How was Luton?" She inquired.

"Found a sleek beauty with gorgeous long legs."

"Really?" She smiled.

"And her horse wasn't bad either." He winked.

"Oh Uncle Grevel!" Audrey laughed.

A waitress approached their table, extending menus and replacing the near empty carafe with a fresh one. After a minute or two, the waitress returned and noted their order. Grevel eyed Audrey with a disappointing frown.

"Not one for brunch, eh?" He asked, commenting on her modest order.

"I adore brunch. It's just that I'm not very hungry."

"Are you unwell, my dear?"

"More like exhausted. It's been a busy weekend, and now I have to go home to the unpleasantness of what I'm afraid will be an ugly confrontation."

"Confrontation?" He questioned.

"With Mr. DeVere."

"But I assumed you'd settled your feud."

"The _feud_ has been totally internal and all one-sided. My side. But after I've had a word with him tonight, I'm certain that arrows will be slung from both sides of the estate."

"After the miles you two logged on the dance floor? I thought that you'd buried the proverbial hatchet."

"Dance floor? What on earth are you talking about?"

"Don't tell me you've already forgotten?"

"Forgotten what?"

"Your evening with DeVere."

"He never showed, remember? But I left word with his house man that I would be calling on him this evening. No one eradicates hundreds of years of tradition and acres of hedgerows without my say-so." She gave a firm nod.

"So the dancing and the slipping out of the party early was just a ploy, is that it? Audrey, darling, you're a woman after my own heart. Crafty and cunning. I'm sure he won't see this coming."

"What party? What dancing?"

"My party. At the Savoy. You and DeVere appeared to be quite _cozy_." He shot her a knowing look.

"Your party?" Audrey shook her head. "But that wasn't DeVere. His name's Richard."

"Yes, I know. Richard DeVere."

"Oh Grevel! I think those endless champagne toasts impaired your vision. I met Richard in Gstaad when I went away on holiday after Marton's funeral."

"I don't know who you think you met in Gstaad, but I know Richard DeVere as well as anyone. I'd recognize him anywhere. Six-two. Dark hair. Mustache. Mid-forties."

"I'm sorry but I think you're mistaken. DeVere is about your age. I met his wife, remember? She's must be close to seventy."

"Just what did this _Richard_ character say his last name was?" Grevel asked after a pregnant pause, folding his arms and eager to hear her response.

"Well...he…we didn't..." Audrey stopped, feeling a wave of uncertainty wash over her. Fragments of disconnected conversations fell into place, and suddenly Audrey began to fit the pieces together in her mind. A recently purchased estate. Moving his mother to the country. A career in sales. The art glass bowl in his apartment. A missed dinner date with a neighbor. _I'm driving right through Taunton_ …

"Oh my god." Audrey whispered under her breath.

"I'm not sure what he told you, but the man who monopolized your dance card was indeed Richard DeVere."

* * *

"I'm not leaving, Brabinger." Marjory folded her arms across her chest, barricading herself in the doorway of the lodge.

"Please, Ms. Frobisher…Madam is quite ill. She will see no one."

"She'll see me."

"I'll let her know that you called again today. Perhaps tomorrow—"

"That's what you said yesterday." Marjory brushed past him, determined to locate her best friend. She quickly searched downstairs, finding no trace of Audrey. Quietly she climbed the narrow wooden staircase as Brabinger looked on with an uneasy expression.

With a light tap on her bedroom door, Marjory peered inside. Despite the darkness of the room, it only took her a few seconds to take inventory: the windows, covered with heavy draperies in an effort to block out the world outside; the floor, littered with an assortment of magazines; her bed, piled high with wrinkled linens and discarded clothing. In the corner on a small settee sat a disheveled Audrey, wrapped in a robe with her nose in a book. The faint light of a floor lamp fell on her pale face. She didn't look up, keeping her attentions focused on the novel in hand.

"Is she gone?" Audrey asked.

"No she is not." Marjory snapped, maneuvering her way through the cluttered bedroom.

"You're going to feel guilty when Brabinger gets sacked because of your rude persistence." She replied, still withholding eye contact.

"What is going on?" After clearing out a spot, Marjory positioned herself on the bed across from Audrey, eyeing her with an annoyed look.

"I don't want to talk about it."

"Well that's fine. But I'm not leaving here until you do."

"Make yourself comfortable then." She glanced up momentarily but quickly turned her eyes back to her book.

Silence filled the room for a full five minutes as Audrey ignored Marjory's presence. Marjory sat still, studying her closest friend, totally baffled at her present behavior. She'd avoided everyone and everything upon returning home from London. No phone calls. No visitors. Days of failed attempts for contact and speculation now had Marjory more than concerned and the mere sight of Audrey confirmed her worst suspicions. The weekend with Richard-from-Gstaad was anything but pleasant.

"If he hurt you…" Marjory whispered.

"It's not that…" Audrey sighed, closing her book. She stood, crossing the room to the window. Pulling back the drapery panel, she stared out into the late afternoon sun with despondent gaze. She hadn't left the top floor of the lodge in days as evidence by her appearance. Marjory wondered when she'd summon the courage to venture out. Based on her closed, guarded body language, she felt certain it would not be anytime in the immediate future.

"Come on, Aud. It can't be that bad."

"It isn't bad. It's beyond bad."

"Won't you talk to me? Please? I want so much to help you." Her voice was soft and soothing, conveying a safety and sympathy that Audrey had relied on for years. It was true. Marjory was her very best friend. Her only true friend, in fact. Rarely did Audrey let anyone in. She'd learned to operate just as generations of fforbes-Hamilton's before her-alone. It was a source of great pride for her...and unfortunately her greatest downfall.

"Why talk when you can show." She answered after a long pause. Returning to the settee, she retrieved the novel. Flipping to the inside cover, she removed a collection of notes, folded in neat little squares. "Here..." She held them out to Marjory, who accepted them with a wary expression.

"What are these?" She asked.

"See for yourself."

"I don't understand..." Marjory read and reread each note, searching for some clue.

"The first two are from Mr. DeVere. The first one welcoming me as a neighbor and the second a _'get well'_ he sent with a bouquet of flowers. The third note is from Richard."

"I still don't understand." She looked up, eager for clarification. "What does he mean _'if you change your mind'_?"

"It's not what he says. Look at the handwriting."

Again Marjory examined the notes, laying all three side by side on the bed. It only took a moment for her to find the source of Audrey's suffering.

"You don't think..." Marjory began.

"I don't have to think. I know." Audrey returned to the window, this time allowing her eyes to focus on the manor in the distance.

 **And cue dramatic music. Thanks for reading!**


	16. Chapter 16

She could hear Bertie's feet clicking on the hardwood floors as he patrolled the lodge house. Like Audrey, he'd been awake most of the night. It was common practice, as neither had become accustomed to the sounds of the small cottage. With a yawn, she rolled over and checked the clock.

The sun was beginning to peek on the horizon. A new day. And as she'd promised Marjory, she would leave the confines of her room and venture out. Well, maybe not _out,_ but at least downstairs. The scent of fresh brewed coffee was in the air, and she smiled knowing her dear Brabinger was busy with his daily preparations. Routine, like tradition, was essential to Audrey. She thrived on it. Church on Sundays. Meals On Wheels on Mondays. Dressage lessons on Tuesdays. And so on. Only now Friday dawned outside her door. No meetings. No community events. No appointments. Just an invitation. An invitation that she hadn't responded to all week. Her thoughts turned to that of a note and key, and part of the afternoon confessional she'd had with Marjory.

" _I guess he was shocked when you told him."_

" _But I didn't tell him. I only found out that Richard and Mr. DeVere were one in the same on Sunday, just before leaving London. Uncle Grevel told me. As far as I know he has no idea."_

 _"You haven't spoken to him? Since you came home?"_

 _"Richard? No." Audrey shook her head._

 _"Well, you're just going to have put whatever happened in London behind you. You can't hide inside the lodge for the rest of your life."_

 _Audrey didn't respond, turning onto her side away from her best friend and curling up in silence. It was in that moment that Marjory knew. Something else had happened in London. Something that went far beyond a few turns on a dance floor and a dinner date._

" _I have a feeling that hiding from Richard is the last thing you want to do."_

 _Audrey remained silent with her back to Marjory. She could scarcely stand to look at herself let alone her best friend. Hours upon hours spent locked up together in her room, sharing girlhood secrets and building a lifetime of trust. She wanted to tell her everything. But saying it out loud would make it real. And for the past three days, Audrey had hidden away from all things real and honest and true. She'd lied to herself. Surely she could convince Marjory..._

 _"We spent the night together. The Lady has indeed become the Tramp, just as you predicted."_

 _"Audrey, I didn't mean-"_

 _"I don't know how it happened. But it happened. I didn't stop it."_

 _"Did you want to?" Marjory asked._

 _"No, I didn't." Audrey confessed after a long pause._

 _"Grown-up games, Aud. You're allowed to play them, you know."_

 _"For eighteen years I never once looked at another man. No indiscretions. No infidelities. While Marton, on the other hand, felt the need to bed anything in a skirt. I was true to our vows not because I loved him, but because that's what was expected. I had a duty. A role to play. The good wife."_

 _"You were a good wife. And look what it got you? You've been unhappy the majority of your adult life."_

 _"But it's not what I do, Marjory. I don't sleep with strangers. I don't sleep with anyone." The emotion in her voice was evident-a dangerous mix of regret and self-loathing._

 _"And now you can't say that, is that right? If I didn't know better I'd say that your upset because you think you've somehow ruined a perfect record. Do you like being the martyr, Audrey? Or are you just comfortable in that role and now you resent someone for breaking your streak? Eighteen consecutive years of heartache ruined in one night with a man you only knew by his first name?" Marjory's words were harsh, stinging Audrey's heart. The tears returned, drawing faint lines down her cheeks._

 _"It's not like that..." Audrey sat up, turning back to face Marjory. The hurt on her face was clear. "He said he was falling in love with me."_

 _"Oh." Marjory whispered, now wishing she could take back her cutting words._

 _"And no, he didn't use those words to lure me into his bed." Audrey reached for a tissue from the bedside table, wiping her eyes and nose. "There was very little luring on his part."_

 _"You're a grown woman, Aud. You have no husband or children to answer to. You don't need anyone's permission."_

 _"I'm just trying to make sense of it all." She bowed her head. "And it doesn't make sense. A man who's the complete antithesis of everything I stand for is living in my house-on my family's estate-and I somehow wind up in bed with the very man himself."_

 _"And if he had a different name and a different profession?"_

 _Audrey paused, bowing her head once more. The truth was there, just waiting to be coaxed out._

 _"It wouldn't matter. It doesn't matter."_

 _"So you're willing to throw away a chance with a man that cares very deeply for you because of some outdated fforbes-Hamilton standard?"_

 _"I knew you wouldn't understand." Again Audrey looked away._

 _"You're right. I don't understand."_

 _"I'm tired, Marjory. Brabinger will show you out." She returned to the small settee in the corner of her bedroom, once again hiding behind the pages of a worn novel._

 _Sensing she'd get no more out of her, Marjory retreated and moved toward the door. She turned back to Audrey one last time with a disappointed expression._

 _"Tradition brings many things, Audrey. Honor. Loyalty. Respect. But tradition won't love you back." She didn't wait for a response as she closed the door quietly behind her._

* * *

"There's a phone call for you, Madam. Ms. Frobisher. Shall I take a message?"

Audrey removed her wellies and gloves with a irritated sigh, dropping them beside the backdoor. Brushing her hair back away from her face, she contemplated Brabinger's offer.

"No, I'll take it." She decided after a moment. She marched out of the kitchen and into the drawing room, wondering what turn their conversation would take now. They hadn't parted on good terms the day before though Audrey knew full well that Marjory's intention were the very best. She glanced at a wrinkled cocktail napkin beside the phone, feeling her heart skip a beat. With a deep breath, she answered the call.

"Yes Marjory?" Audrey addressed her with a curt tone.

"Good morning. Did I wake you?"

"Of course not. I've been awake for hours."

"Oh. That's good."

"Was there a reason you called?" Audrey asked after a pregnant pause.

"I just want to apologize for yesterday. I'm sorry for being harsh at times. I wasn't trying to be insensitive. I just hate to see you so unhappy." Her words were honest and genuine...making it impossible for Audrey to be upset with her.

"Please don't. I was wrong."

"They're your feelings, Aud. I have no right to tell you anything."

"You were doing what you've always done. Being my one true friend. And sometimes friends have to speak the cold, hard truth."

"Have you thought anymore about...you know..."

"About tonight? Yes and I'm not going, Marjory. I can't go."

"But why not?"

"I told you why."

"So he'll be waiting up at his apartment all night, hoping and praying that you're going to show?"

"Listen, I kept my end of the bargain. I got out of bed, got dressed, ate a lovely breakfast and have been outside enjoying some gardening. That's enough for one day."

"Alright, Aud." She conceded. "Ring me later if you need anything or just need to talk."

* * *

"I'm leaving now." Richard poked his head inside the study.

"I think you have it backwards. You've moped around here all week and now you are going to spend the weekend in London? You're supposed to work in London all week so that you can relax at your country estate on the weekends."

"I know, Mother. I'm sorry to be leaving you again."

"I'm fine. I'm just worried about you. You've drifted around here like a ghost all week."

"I just have a lot on my mind right now. There's a very pressing matter in London that requires my full attention."

"Does the pressing matter have a name?" She asked.

"What?"

"Does she have a name?"

"What makes you so sure this has something to do with a woman?"

"Doesn't it?"

"Mother, I don't feel like discussing this. Rory is waiting to take off. I really must go."

"Just as I suspected." She smiled smugly.

"If I admit that your suspicions are correct will you then let me go in peace?" He tried to suppress a grin.

"You don't have to admit what I already know." She winked. "When will you be home?"

"I don't know. I hope later than sooner." He smiled, blowing her a kiss before closing the door.

The smile remained on his face until the helicopter touched down on the pad at the top of his corporate headquarters. He'd laughed out loud several times at his mother's perceptiveness, which helped to lift his spirits a great deal. It had been a long week. One made even longer by the fact that his phone never rang. He'd scrawled his number down on a cocktail napkin just moments before her cab arrived. He'd tried everything to convince her to stay. But maybe, he decided after many days of silent contemplation, maybe he'd offered too much too soon.

The cab ride to Chelsea was slow. The streets were beginning to fill as the city made preparations for the nighttime hours. With a check of his watch, he confirmed that he was still ahead of schedule, but that would quickly change as the traffic increased. He still had several stops to make and the urgency to get back to the apartment grew. Would she be there waiting? He honestly had no idea. For five days he had replayed the exchange that happened in his bedroom. Not the tender lovemaking, but the scene that occurred afterward. His declaration hung in the air for at least a full minute and a thousand thoughts ran through his mind. _Did she hear me? Did I say that out loud? Maybe I just dreamed it. My body is so completely relaxed against hers_. His hand moved slowly down her arm and he pulled her body closer. It was then that he felt the first hint of resistance as her body seemed to tense up.

 _"Audrey?" He said her name a second time._

 _"Yes?" Again she whispered._

 _He rolled on to his side to face her, lifting her chin so that her eyes met his own._

 _"Did you hear what I said?" He asked; his deep brown eyes scanning hers for any sign of acknowledgment._

 _"Yes I did." She dropped her eyes down, avoiding his stare._

 _"Audrey, look at me..." He raised her chin slightly, forcing her to again meet his gaze._

 _"Richard, don't..." She tried to pull away, but he wouldn't relinquish his grip._

 _"Please don't do this. Please just talk to me." He sat up, taking her hands in his._

 _"Maybe this was a mistake." She looked around the room, trying to plan her escape in the most dignified way possible._

 _"A mistake? How on earth can you think that this is a mistake?"_

 _"I don't know..." She felt the beginnings of a headache; the mixture of wine and brandy and his cologne making her head swim. She suddenly felt warm and it looked as though the black and white photographs around her were now hazy and distorted._

 _"Audrey, are you alright?" He placed a supportive hand on her shoulder._

 _"I'm not feeling very well." She held her head in her hands, still avoiding eye contact._

 _"Stay here. I'll be right back."_

 _He slipped out of bed and disappeared. He returned moments later with a glass of water and a bottle of aspirin. He was wearing a black silk robe, and carried another one over his arm. He placed the items on the nightstand then sat down on the bed beside her._

 _"Here...let's put this on." He draped the robe around her shoulders with a smile._

 _"Thank you." She whispered._

 _"I brought you some aspirin. And I want you to drink the entire glass of water, please."_

 _He placed the glass in her hand, then brushed her hair back away from her face with a loving touch. She followed his instructions without objection, taking two of the small white pills and drinking the water down in hasty gulps. She sat the empty glass quietly back on the nightstand then turned her eyes up to his._

 _"You forgot to...you know..." He pointed to the empty glass._

 _"Oh right." She smiled shyly and grabbed the glass. With a grin, she placed it firmly down on the nightstand then wiped her mouth dramatically with the sleeve of his robe._

 _"That's more like it." He shared a genuine smile._

 _"Thank you. I have a terrific headache coming on." She rubbed her hand across her forehead._

 _"That would be my fault, I'm afraid. And for that I am deeply sorry."_

 _"It's not you, Richard."_

 _"Everything was fine and then I went and said something stupid."_

 _"It's okay. Really. If you feel the need to make a retraction, then I completely understand. Chalk it up to 'being caught up in the moment'. It happens. No harm, no foul." She pulled the robe tightly around her, tying the sash with nervous hands._

 _"It's not that. I meant what I said, Audrey. Every word. Do you know how hard it was for me to walk away from your suite last night?" Again his hand found her hair as he smoothed it off her forehead. "I don't want to scare you off. My god, that's the last thing I want. And I've gone and done exactly that."_

 _"I just wasn't expecting-"_

 _"I haven't stopped thinking about you from the moment we met. And now it's like I've been given a second chance. I don't want to let you go." He reached for her hand, giving it a gentle caress. He could tell that his words, while spoken from his heart, were making her uncomfortable._

 _"I came to London for what I thought would be a simple reunion with my uncle. I wasn't prepared for this." She looked into his eyes, again moved by their depth and honesty._

 _"I don't want you to feel like this was a mistake. You joked about me getting you up to my lair but I promise that I never intended to force you into something you weren't ready for."_

 _"I know. And you didn't force. I was a more than willing participant."_

 _"I won't force you, Audrey. And if that means backing off and giving you some time...we took one look at the race track and went right to the gate. I don't want you to doubt yourself or my intentions."_

 _"I just need some time. Some time to think."_

 _"I understand. I don't like it, but I do understand."_

 _"It's not you, Richard. You have to know that. I was married for eighteen long years_ _and-"_

 _"And you don't have to say another word." He silenced her, placing his finger over her lips with a tender smile._

 _"Maybe it would be easier if I took a cab back to my hotel."_

 _"Absolutely not. I'll drive you back if that's what you want."_

 _"No, really, I think I'd rather take a cab." The confusion in her eyes was apparent._

 _"I wish you wouldn't, but I'll make the call." He excused himself again, leaving Audrey alone. Quickly she slipped out of his robe and back into her dress. She was just tying the sash around her trench coat when he returned._

 _"Cab's on the way." He announced._

 _"Thank you."_

 _He approached her; a serious look in his eyes. Taking her hand once more, he pressed something cold into her palm._

 _"I'll be back here on Friday. If you think you're ready to..." He stopped, unsure how to proceed._

 _Audrey examined the key he placed in her hand for several moments. Her mind wrestled with opposing thoughts of running away and returning to his bed._

 _"Thank you, but I'm just not ready." She reached for his hand, wrapping his fingers firmly back around the key._

 **Thanks for reading!**


	17. Chapter 17

**Well, you've made it to the final chapter in my little tale. Thanks so much for reading! For those of you who have left comments, I'm truly appreciative.**

* * *

By the time he made it downstairs from the upper chambers, Audrey had practically walked a hole in the polished wood floor of the county court building. Her arrival had been announced several minutes before and she paced nervously as she waited. He motioned silently to her as they stepped quietly inside a private study off the main lobby. Softly he closed the frosted glass pocket doors behind him. Drawing a deep breath, he turned and adjusted his glasses on his face. He didn't bother to ask, but he knew there was only one reason that Audrey fforbes-Hamilton would pull him from court on a Friday afternoon. He merely stood and waited for the barrage of questions that would surely be laced with hostility and confusion. She stood silently for several moments, shifting her weight nervously back and forth.

"Now Audrey, whatever it is..." He motioned to a small leather sofa.

"Just tell me that you didn't know. Say you didn't know and I'll walk out those doors without another word." Her tone was surprisingly calm, making Arnold even more nervous.

"Know what?" He asked.

"About DeVere."

"What about him?"

"He's the head of Cavendish Foods."

"Yes. And?"

"What do you mean _and_? Isn't that enough?"

"Sit down, Audrey."

"I'd rather stand if it's all the same." She folded her arms across her chest.

"The man has a right to purchase whatever home he chooses."

"So you did know."

"Of course I knew. And if you'd taken a greater interest in the final financial transaction of the estate, you'd have known too."

"Greater interest? Nobody had a greater bloody interest in Grantleigh than I. I made the monumental sacrifice. I put my family estate in the hands of a man whose business is in direct opposition to the traditions that my father's father and all the fforbes-Hamilton's worked tirelessly to uphold. So don't you dare lecture me on _my_ lack of interest." The anger in her voice was clear, but Mr. Plunkett could also see tears welling up in the corners of her eyes.

"He's a businessman, Audrey. A businessman entitled to earn a living-even if you don't agree with his ethics. You're not being fair."

"Fair? What is fair, Arnold? Would you explain it to me, please? And be sure to use small words. You know we poor country widows are rather slow to understand these things!" Audrey was now shouting, completely unaware of her tone.

"Audrey Louisa fforbes-Hamilton! Keep your voice down! This is a public building. My God! If your father could hear you-"

"But my father's not here, is he? He's not here and I...and I..." Her bottom lip began to quiver, opening a flood gate of tears that she was helpless to contain.

"Come..." He commanded, but with loving support.

With his arm compassionately around her shoulder, he guided her to the sofa. Being the father of four grown daughters, Arnold Plunkett was accustomed to an occasional outburst. But the emotions written on Audrey's face were clearly beyond that of normal daily drama. Showing up unannounced and questioning the sale of the manor months after the fact could mean only one thing. Something serious had happened.

"I know you miss him terribly, my dear. He loved you so very much. You had a tough row to hoe. Being daughter as well as son." Arnold words and touch were soothing, as he spoke in a calm quiet tone, gently rubbing her arm with fatherly affection.

"Why didn't you tell me?" She looked up at Arnold with eyes full of hurt. Her voice was once again calm and she gladly accepted his silent offer a clean monogrammed handkerchief. It wasn't the first time he'd made the gesture. With the death of both her mother and father in her early twenties, Audrey had relied on Arnold for much more than legal advice. He was her surrogate...and the only man other than her father that she'd ever really trusted.

"Because I knew exactly how you'd react."

"But you knew I'd find out."

"Of course. But at the time I favored later over sooner."

"Because you wanted to avoid this?"

"Because I hated to see you hurt further."

"Well it hurts more now than you ever could have imagined."

"Why now?"

"Because now I'm in love with him." She answered after a lengthy silence.

* * *

Juggling several bags from the market, he fumbled to slip his key in the door. After a moment he found success, entering the apartment with an anxious step.

"Audrey?" He called out with a hopeful tone. He received no response. Quickly he went to work, organizing his purchases in the kitchen and restocking the bar. He smiled as he pulled a bottle of wine from a brown paper bag. Reading the label, he thought back to dinner at the bistro and how she'd raved about the vintage. Grabbing glasses from the cupboard, he arranged them neatly on a tray along with the wine and a corkscrew. Stepping back, he gave a contented nod. He grabbed one last shopping bag and turned around. _Time to make the once through..._

Strolling from room to room, he found everything to his satisfaction. He'd solicited a maid service to tidy up and change the linens. Not just the linens in his room, but the guest suite as well. He wanted Audrey to be comfortable, no matter where she decided to lay her head. He stopped momentarily at the guest bath, placing a fresh bar of soap in the shower. He continued on to his mother's former bedroom, where he placed a bouquet of flowers and a novel she'd mentioned on the nightstand. _Only one more thing_...he considered, as he tossed the empty shopping bag in the hall closet on the way to his bedroom. He walked to the master bath and retrieved the robe she'd worn briefly Saturday night. Though he knew it'd since been laundered, he still held it to his face, hoping for a hint of Audrey. He quickly made his way back to the guest suite, hanging the robe on the back of the door.

With his tasks complete, he poured himself a short whisky and retired to the reception room. A light rain fell and he stood nursing his drink for several minutes at the large picture window. He could see them dancing together on the terrace again...and the reflection of her face in the glass. There was something behind her blue eyes that he still couldn't decipher. Despite her intelligent, quick wit and her infectious genuine laugh, there was something about her that worried him. A melancholy sort of feeling. It went beyond the death of her husband. It was deeper. More intense. Something he himself longed to heal.

Sitting down at the piano, he eyed the keys with reservation. Unbeknownst to most, he was a skilled musician, playing a variety of instruments. But the piano had always been his solace, and he returned to its comfort time and again. He gently played a few bars of Chopsticks, chuckling as his fingers moved across the keys. But Chopsticks morphed into a collection of Bacharach that eventually melted into Gershwin. With every note, the rain outside increased and his hopes seeing her again diminished. Another drink and two after hours business calls did little to divert his attention. He returned to the piano just as the clock in the hall struck eight. He'd known. From the moment he'd climbed into the helicopter, he knew the night would end in disappointment. In the cab. At the market. At the corner florist. It was nothing more than a game. Again his hands found the keys, and as he played he stared out toward the Thames. A heavy fog was making its way across the city, covering it like a veil. _She's definitely not coming..._

He walked through the apartment, extinguishing each light and locking up for the night. His bedroom retreat called to him, and in minutes he was relaxing in his robe in front of the telly. Normally Richard abhorred television, with the exception of news and business. But he was too keyed up to turn in early and had no attention span for reading. Flipping through the channels, he found little to interest him. He eventually decided on a program highlighting American painter Marsden Hartley, though he wasn't truly a student of fine art. He focused on the screen for several minutes, irritated by the name in the back of his mind. _Marsden Hartley? Marsden Hartley?_

Then like a shot, it came to him. It hadn't occurred to him before, and even if it had, he would have immediately dismissed it. But the rain fell harder outside his window and the second bourbon pulsed through his veins, creating thoughts and ideas that weren't exactly rational. He stood, making a beeline for the desk in his bedroom. With a moment's search through the drawers for a phone book, he came up short. He checked the kitchen. Nothing. Finally, tucked inside the tiny sideboard in the hall, he found it. With a quick scan of the pages, his finger came to rest on the number. He reached for the phone, dialing in haste. It rang several times before a gentleman answered with a formal greeting.

"I'm sorry to bother you, but this is Richard DeVere."

"Well, well, well...I've been expecting a call. At least from one of you." The gentleman commented with a chuckle.

* * *

The windshield wipers on the big black Mercedes flapped at full speed. The fog was unusually thick and she silently cursed the weatherman for his erroneous prediction. The streets along the high end area of Chelsea were surprisingly empty for a Friday night. She tried to remember the exact route he'd taken, going so far as to start at the bistro to wind her way back. But the buildings began to have a similar look-surely a sign of too much wine the night she and Richard drove back to his private piano bar. It was then that she realized that she had absolutely no idea which apartment would fit the key tucked inside her wallet.

A few more twists and turns and ten minutes later she sat idling in front of the only apartment building that looked familiar. She searched the streets, but found no sign of the Corniche. Cruising the block, she found a space around the corner. She moved the gearshift into park and sat staring out in the dark, rainy night. It was almost eleven. Five more minutes ticked off the clock as she tried to collect herself. For a moment she considered leaving, afraid that she'd made the wrong choice. Again. But that feeling was quickly overshadowed by something she'd fought all week: the truth. With a deep breath she reached into the backseat for her overnight bag. Braving the rain with neither coat or umbrella, she quickly exited the vehicle and hurried along the sidewalk, playing hopscotch with a collection of puddles before disappearing into his building.

Once inside, she immediately knew she was in the right place. Shaking the rain from her hair, she waited for the lift. Two minutes later she was standing at the door to his apartment on the fifth floor. Her heart beat wildly in her chest, and the fear and doubt she'd harbored for days suddenly melted away...replaced with the anticipation of seeing his deep brown eyes.

She located the key in her wallet and slipped it silently in the door. Just like Cinderella's slipper, it was a perfect fit. She turned it softly opened the door. The apartment was dark and quiet and immediately Audrey called out his name. No response. Stepping inside, she called to him again as she turned to lock the door behind her. Still no answer. She moved cautiously through the apartment, dripping water as she turned on lights and checked each room. As she did, she uncovered several clues: the remains of a highball on the piano; a tray for two in the kitchen; fresh flowers and the novel she'd mentioned at dinner in the guest room. She smiled, touched that he remember. _I bet he's asleep..._

She tiptoed lightly down the hall, pushing the door to his bedroom open gently. Light from the master bath fell into the room, spilling across the bed. The linens were immaculate, with no sign of Richard.

"Richard?" She called his name once more, making her way toward the study. The pocket doors were closed and she opened them with a light touch, surprised to find the space empty. The television glowed in the corner and she crossed the room to turn it off. _He's definitely been here. But_ w _here is he now?_

She retrieved her overnight bag from the entry with a yawn. The hours of missed sleep coupled with the long drive in the rain had left her exhausted. Expecting his return at anytime, Audrey decided to slip out of her wet skirt and sweater and into something dry and more comfortable. She hoped the novel on the nightstand would keep her occupied until he came back. She grabbed it and made her way to the guest bath.

Pealing off layers of wet clothes, she tried again to collect her thoughts. There was so much that she wanted to tell him. The drive into London had been a dress rehearsal of sorts as she'd practiced the words she needed to say. What would he think when he learned that she was the widow from the manor? The time and space currently between them created a convenient cushion in their relationship. Would the fact that he drove past the lodge every day suddenly change his feelings? She could see by the little touches around the apartment that he was fully expecting her return. But the woman he expected and the woman who now stood in his guest bath in wet stockings were not the same. Would he now send her away, unwilling to continue a relationship with a too-close neighbor? Though he'd never mentioned it, she knew he must have heard the rumors about town-the bitterness following Marton's death and her unsuccessful fight to win back the manor. How could he possibly feel anything but suspicious of her motives in their involvement?

Rifling through her bag, she debated on what to wear. A heavy sigh of indecision filled the air and that's when she spied it-the soft terry robe hanging on the back of the door. She rubbed her hand across it, feeling a smile on her lips. This was the second time he'd offered it as a gesture of comfort. Bringing the sleeve to her nose she inhaled deeply, hoping for a trace of Richard's cologne. Looking back at her bag, she hesitated. After a moment of internal conflict, she removed the robe from its hook and pulled it around her. It was warm and clean and smelled of the same lavender as the sheets on his bed. She looked at herself in the mirror, running her fingers through her damp hair. With book in hand, she turned and padded quietly down the hall and into Richard's bedroom.

She found everything to be just as she remembered. The furnishings. The linens. The photographs. Again she studied the framed pieces around the room, taken with his choice of subjects: people, architecture, landscapes. _He definitely has a gift._ She smiled, continuing on to the study. She was eager to curl up on the inviting leather sectional, but shivered when she entered. The wall of windows created a damp chill, initiating a quest for a blanket. Her eyes scanned the room, stopping at a large trunk in the corner near the television. _Aha! The perfect spot for a throw_. Carefully lifting the lid, she peeked inside. Folded neatly on top she found what she needed-a soft wool blanket in a masculine plaid. She pulled it from the confines of the trunk, surprised by what she found hiding underneath. An over-sized photo album sat upon a stack of old books. Her heartbeat suddenly increased. The leather was old and worn and the gold leaf initials on the cover were barely discernible. _Should I?_ She questioned, wondering if she dare invade his privacy. With a quick check over her shoulder, she reached for the album and removed it carefully. Turning to the inside cover, she read a heartwarming dedication.

 _Bedriche,_

 _How blessed I am to be your mother. The joy you have brought to my life is immeasurable. I hope that the love I feel for you is evident as you take this journey through the first forty years of your life._

 _Happy Birthday!_

 _All my love,_

 _Mother_

Audrey paused, unsure if she should proceed. She tapped her finger along the spine of the album, weighing her decision. But curiosity won out over etiquette and she poured over the album page by page for at least a half hour. She was amazed-his mother had saved everything. A complete history of Richard's life. Every school picture, every report card, every newspaper clipping. A copy of his first business contract and the first dollar he'd made as a young boy delivering groceries for an elderly chap named Dvorak. Audrey laughed, intrigued by the photos of a young Richard sans moustache. He was just as handsome as a skinny teen as he was now. His eyes hadn't changed. She noticed it in every picture-the same honest look that took her breath away. With each page she learned more and more about him. His birthday. His middle name. His acceptance into Leeds famed School of Music. She was only halfway through the album when she realized that there was so much more to Richard DeVere than she'd ever thought possible. Pictures of him donating his time at soup kitchens in London's lesser neighborhoods. Dressing as Santa and delivering gifts to the children's ward at a hospital. Proudly presenting an over-sized check to a local youth music program. Standing at a podium and speaking out against world hunger. Receiving an award for Community Steward of the Year. Tears filled her eyes with the realization that Richard really wasn't Cavendish at all. And her smile grew exponentially with each additional discovery...until she reached the last few pages in the book. Richard's wedding photos.

She studied his bride for several moments, finding she was not at all what she'd expected. He'd spoken of her briefly at the bistro, and only when she'd pressed for details. And he'd never mentioned her name. One thing was clear. She was indeed very young. Mid-twenties and not a day more. Perfect hair. Perfect smile. Perfect. Her look was surprisingly exotic-dark hair and olive skin that highlighted piercing green eyes. She was everything Audrey wasn't...striking, voluptuous and captivating. Richard stood proudly by her side, his arm wrapped firmly around her tiny waist, surrounded by family and close friends on a sun-kissed beach. The photographs were beautiful, she couldn't deny it. But something was missing. They just didn't look real, as though they were simply pages pulled from a bridal magazine. Their expressions didn't match. While Richard's face echoed true joy, her smile conveyed a complete different sentiment, as if she'd just pulled off the greatest coup of the century. She was over-confident; almost smug. It made Audrey think back to her own wedding photos...and the day she wore a very similar look.

Suddenly her thoughts wandered away from the photos as she remembered the gentle massage and the moments before they drifted to his bed. There hadn't been an ounce of uncomfortable tension between them as Richard worked his hands across her feet with a sensual touch. The sensation of falling that she'd experienced while dancing on his terrace returned when his hands moved gently up her legs and over the hem of her dress, coming to rest on her hips. Their eyes locked on one another and neither said a word as he pulled her body close. Seconds later she tasted his kiss. It wasn't soft and tender, as he'd kissed her before. This kiss was filled with what Audrey could only describe as impatient longing, reminiscent of the deserted street outside the jazz bar. His lips teased her, leaving a trail of kisses across her cheek and down her neck...making her want more. She could still feel his breath on her back as he unzipped her dress, slipping his hands around her waist and nibbling the back of her neck as a mass of silky black fabric fell to the floor around her feet. Turning her body around to face him, she was met with those same eyes full of honesty. And that's when she fell...

* * *

"Alright, alright...I'm coming." He hollered, stomping down the stairs; a Cogswell and Harrison resting comfortably in the crook of his left arm. The doorbell rang for a third time, adding to his exasperation.

"Hold on!" He shouted, turning the locks in haste. _What in bloody hell? It's nearly midnight._

"What is it?" He swung the door open in dramatic fashion; his anger clearly apparent in his tone.

"I'm so very sorry to disturb you at this hour, Mr. Plunkett."

"Mr. DeVere? Is everything alright? Is it Audrey?"

"Well, that's precisely why I'm here. I just stopped at the lodge and Brabinger informed me that-"

"Well come in out of the rain..." He stepped back, allowing Richard entrance into his home.

"I apologize for putting you on guard." He pointed to the side-by-side in Arnold's arm.

"Oh goodness gracious. I'm sorry." He propped the gun up in the corner of the small entryway. "Please forgive me. Seems solicitors are always in season. I'm no Tulkinghorn, but one never knows who might be lurking outside on a rainy night." He joked.

"I don't want to trouble you. If you could just tell Audrey that I'm here..."

"Audrey isn't here. She drove to London. To see you."

"What? When?"

"I guess it was about eight-thirty when she left. Took my car. Her Rolls is not the most reliable."

"We must have passed each other somewhere along the way."

"Indeed."

"Would you mind terribly if I used your phone? I'd like to call my apartment to see if she's there."

"Of course, of course. Use the private line in my study."

"Thank you. I don't want to miss her again. She may have decided to drive back when she found I wasn't there."

"So you haven't spoken with her?"

"Not since last Saturday, no."

"But how did you? I mean, how did you find out that-"

"I put in a call to a colleague. I don't know why I didn't think of it before. See, I was watching this program about an artist named Hartley and-well, it doesn't matter now. I know her uncle. Professional speaking."

"Grevel?" He raised an eyebrow.

"Yes, Grevel Hartley. He filled me in as they say. Of course I had to do my share of begging. He was most unwilling to give up privileged information. He's very devoted to Audrey's interests. So I had to negotiate a few _assurances_. Just to ease his mind a bit."

"Always the businessman, eh?"

"Not this time. This is far more important than any business dealing."

"You know she drove to London with the express intent of telling you everything. She's been miserable all week."

"That makes two of us."

Conventions of client confidentiality aside, Arnold led Richard to his private study, conversing as a father to a would-be suitor. He highlighted much of what Grevel has mentioned earlier, only his account was filled with far greater detail and much more emotion. Richard listened closely, nodding his head as Arnold reiterated the lengthy conversation he'd shared with Audrey that afternoon at the courthouse...one that had lasted for over two hours. He learned of her extreme aversion to the Cavendish empire, her mistrust of men in general, the enormous demands she placed upon herself and her need to cling to the one constant in her life: her family estate.

"But all that's changed now. She's found something she wants even more than Grantleigh."

"What's that?" He asked.

"You." Arnold shot him a wink.

* * *

She jumped; pulled from dreams by the ringing of a phone. It took her a moment to catch her bearings, not immediately recognizing where she was. Lying beneath the warmth of the plaid blanket, she'd drifted off instantly, unable to stay awake as she played the waiting game. Shuffling into his bedroom, she fumbled in the dark for the phone. She crawled across the bed, answering it with a cautious tone.

"Yes?"

"Audrey?"

"Richard?" She whispered.

"Are you alright?"

"Yes I'm fine. I fell asleep. Where the devil are you? I thought for sure you'd have come back hours ago."

"I'm calling from Arnold's."

"Arnold's? What is that? A pub?"

"No. I mean I'm calling from Mr. Plunkett's. I drove to the lodge, but Brabinger said-"

"You went to the lodge?" Surely she'd misheard him. She clicked on the lamp beside his bed, rubbing her sleepy eyes in an effort to wake up fully.

"Yes, Mrs. fforbes-Hamilton...I went to the lodge."

A wave of heat seared through her body and her heart jumped up into her throat. The grogginess disappeared instantly and Audrey now sat completely sober and lucid on the edge of his bed. Despite the fact that she'd rehearsed her lines repeatedly, she suddenly was at a total loss. She'd wanted to be the one to tell him. In person. Face to face...knowing his brown eyes would convey safety, giving her to courage to share to the truth. But now it was too late. Days of staring at the cocktail napkin, knowing he was waiting for her call. Hours spent watching the manor from the French doors in the drawing room, knowing he was just a two minute walk away. Nights spent lying awake, reading and rereading the first note he'd ever written her...touched by the warmth he'd conveyed when she was nothing more than a faceless neighbor.

"But how did you...?" She asked after an uncomfortable pause.

"I spoke to Grevel." His tone was very businesslike.

"Oh I see." She nervously wrapped the phone cord around her finger, feeling a piece of her heart fall away. "Listen Richard, I understand if you don't want to-"

"Audrey?" He interrupted.

"Yes?"

"Let's talk about this later, alright?"

"Alright." She conceded.

"And one more thing..."

"Yes?" She answered hopefully.

"Keep my side of the bed warm, Darling. I'll be there in a couple of hours."

* * *

 _Dearest Marjory,_

 _Greetings from the Bernese Alps! We arrived late last night (exhausted from a day of travel) and I am writing to you from the most beautiful suite in all Gstaad. The view of the mountains is breathtaking and The Grand is just as I remember-grand in every detail. I can hardly believe this is the last leg of our journey. Richard was adamant that we spend the final weekend of our honeymoon in the hotel that started it all (thus the full day of plane and train hopping to get here). It will be exactly one year to the day when we drop down to the piano bar tomorrow evening. In fact, he's downstairs right now making arrangements with the bartender (i.e. good old-fashioned bribery) for use of the baby grand. From what I understand he's composed a special song just for me, though I don't know how he could possibly top the last time he serenaded me here._

 _We celebrated my birthday at the famed Negresco in Nice. It was more of a circus than a birthday. I insisted on a modest, quiet dinner but you know Richard. I got nothing of the sort. Once again he pulled out all the stops, transforming the private dining hall into a carnival atmosphere. Jugglers, acrobats, clowns, balloons-even an organ grinder and monkey. Can you imagine? Richard, myself, and at least FIFTY street performers? All packed into one dining room? It was the most ridiculous and outlandish display of excess I've ever witnessed in my life...and the most fun I've had in years. At the end of dinner he surprised me with a fortune teller. What an experience! With a flip of her cards, she told me of the long and wonderfully blissful life that I would share with a man who loved me very much. And all I could think was Poor Richard! He paid good money for some gypsy to tell me what I already know._

 _When he suggested a month long honeymoon I thought he was absolutely mad. Yet time has slipped by so quickly. We've had a lovely time, but I do miss you and Brabinger and Mrs. Poo (Bertie too). It's nice to get away, but even nicer to come home...especially to a happy one._

 _Looking forward to seeing you soon._

 _Much Love,_

 _Audrey_

 **THE END**

 **I hope you enjoyed The Guiding Hand of Fate!**


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